


The Prince's Pet

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Fantasy, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Romance, Smut, poly-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 70,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: *AU* Gifted to the prince on her 18th birthday, the palace is the only life outside of Solitude Hermione knows. When the Potters are overthrown, her fate seems sealed. That is, until her ownership ends up in the hands of Lord Lucius Malfoy, who thinks she will make the perfect gift for his son . . . and perhaps for himself. (poly-fic [multiple pairings]) SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. Prologue: An Unwelcome Sight + Ch. 1: Under New Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A REPOST. I originally posted this fic a while back, pulled it because all my Dramione-inclusive plunnies died on me. But now they've been stirring back to life, so I decided to give them second chance.
> 
> Those who read these works before my mass Dramione Deletion (or who read these works in my Unfinished Dramione PDF), please note that aside from minor changes and editing fixes, the content of the previously posted chapters has not changed. All returning Dramiones will be updated weekly until all previously-available chapters are posted. At that point, the fics will continue until completion, but will fall under my 'sporadic updates' label.
> 
> Because the first chapter of Pet was so short, I have changed it to a prologue, instead, hence why chapter one (previously chapter two) is now included with it.
> 
> FANCAST: Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Henry Cavill as Voldemort; Maria Amanda as Luna Lovegood; Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Adrien Brody [from, like, 10 years ago] as Severus Snape (thank my bestie Kittenshift17 for that one); Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback. (Any character not included in the fancast list is because I accept the actors who portrayed said character[s] in the films)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters and make no profit from this work.

  

**Prologue**

An Unwelcome Sight

"You know, Your Highness, you shouldn't be here, right now," Hermione reminded, one eyebrow arched as she prepared herself to launch into a lecture on his lack of responsibility.

Harry held in a laugh—it was difficult to take anything seriously when the woman trying to be serious was currently leaning across him, feeding him a strawberry. He chewed slowly and swallowed, breathing a blissful sigh at the brush of her naked skin against his.

"You should be—"

"I should be in the front hall with the King and Queen, awaiting the triumphant return of our knights."

Hermione pressed her lips together as she sat up. "Actually, I was going to say you  _are_  a rather skilled fighter. You should be out in the battlefield with His Majesty's soldiers."

He rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Not like I didn't want to be, but Father wouldn't allow it. The most I could do would be lounge about the front hall with my parents—as previously stated—awaiting their return. I can't do that when I should be out there."

Holding in a sigh, she tried to reroute the discussion, knowing she'd hit a sore spot, though she'd not intended to. Honestly, she was fortunate the prince was so patient with her forwardness and cared so little for formality. "I know it isn't my place to tell you what to do, or when to do it, My Prince—"

"Though you do excel at both," he said with a wink and a lecherous grin.

She laughed in spite of herself as she continued. "But if you're not there, because you're having a romp with your courtesan . . . . Their Majesties might very well send me back in exchange for a girl not so . . . distracting."

He smirked and shifted on the bed, resting his head in her lap. "What makes you think I'd be any different with any other girl as my pet?"

She propped her hands on her hips and curled forward to meet his gaze. "I'd like to think the other girls were a touch more obedient than I. The Mothers couldn't wait to be rid of me."

He tipped his head back, catching one of her nipples between his lips and suckling gently. His arms circled her, hands splayed against the small of her back, holding her to him.

Hermione shivered, her wide chestnut eyes drifting closed. "You are right," she whispered, cupping his chin. She stroked his jaw with her fingertips encouragingly as she added, "Actually, no. You would be  _worse_ with them, because they would be too afraid to give you a piece of their minds."

Letting the delicate pink flesh slip from between his lips, he chuckled. "Way I understand it, you're the only one of them with any to mind to spare."

She frowned. She genuinely missed some of the other girls from Solitude. "That's hardly fair. We were all offered the same opportunity to learn, they simply chose not to, because they know what their futures will be. Everyone wants a pet, but they mostly prefer us to be seen, admired, and enjoyed, but  _not_  conversed with."

"Lucky you ended up with me, then, aren't you?"

She sank her teeth into her lower lip as she held his gaze, coyly pretending she didn't notice that he was sneaking a hand up one of her thighs. "Well, they heard Your Highness is a bit . . . odd in that respect, but my point is still valid."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she covered his lips with her fingers. There was a strange, terrible sound. She could only liken it to a funeral dirge. The deep, almost discordant notes were just on the edge of her awareness; she knew he'd hear it in a moment.

"Hush, My Prince. Listen."

Sighing, Harry rose up on his elbows and tipped his head to one side. After a few, strained heartbeats, his face fell and the color drained from his cheeks.

Scrambling out of bed, he rushed across the room to look out the window. His entire frame drooped as he rested his forehead against the granite sill.

His reaction set off an icy churning in the pit of her stomach. Gathering the sheet off the bed and pulling it around herself, she hurried to his side. "Your Highness, what's wrong? What  _is_  that noise?"

"See for yourself," he said in a low, bitter voice as he pointed out, into the distance.

Hermione followed his gesture with her gaze. On the horizon, a legion on horseback, swathed in black approached the city of Godric's Hollow. She forced a gulp down her throat as the chill in her belly radiated outward, raising goose bumps on her skin.

"Those are Voldemort's troops. My father's forces have been defeated." He turned, green eyes locking on hers. "He's come to claim the palace."

The Potter line had been in rule for  _centuries_. Hermione's heart thumped so hard against her ribcage, she thought her bones might shatter.; she didn't imagine the Dark Lord would be kind in his victory.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Under New Ownership

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she reached up, taking the garment hanging over the quatrefoil partition. Fingers trembling, still, she held the dress against her naked skin as she turned to look in the mirror.

Blinking hard, she let out a shaky breath. Was  _this_  really all she was allowed?

"All things considered, it could be worse, Hermione," she said to her reflection in a whisper.

Her Prince and Their Majesties—she didn't care that the crown now rested upon Voldemort's head, he was  _no_  king—sat in the dungeon. She was free . . . . Well, she amended with an arched brow, as free as she'd been before, at least.

Of course she wasn't sitting in a cell with the Potters, she thought, her fear vanishing in a flash of irritation as she stepped into the flimsy dress and pulled it up over her shoulders. She wasn't a  _person_ , she was an object, and one wouldn't hold an object prisoner. One used an object, or they discarded it.

All that remained now was to see which fate her new master chose for her. Hermione held in a sigh as she looked over her reflection. It was just as horrible, just as demoralizing as she feared. Most who had the luxury to own pets gave them the finest, most fashionable attire, because such extravagance was as much a symbol of wealth and status as owning a pet was. Pets were shown off and adored . . . coveted by others.

But this . . . ? Her gaze traced over the sheer, gauzy black folds of the draped  _gown_. The thin fabric was dusted with sparkles of gold and silver for a touch of opulence, but nothing more. Aside from a little glitter and a dash of black shading, she might as well be standing there nude.

Her eyelids drifted closed against a sudden upwelling of tears as she once more let herself understand her situation. She no longer belonged to Crown Prince, Harry Potter. She was the property of the Usurper, Voldemort.

Poking her head around the partition, she looked over the jewels awaiting her upon the vanity table. A fine, weighty necklace, bracelets, a delicate chain to adorn her forehead—she wondered briefly if he was trying to dress her like the priestesses of old—even the sandals set beneath the table had small gemstones affixed to the leather thongs.

Glittering baubles on her extremities, while her lady-parts were barely shielded by the filmy black material. Oh, yes, Voldemort meant to display her, like any other owner, simply in a  _very_  different manner.

A rough banging sounded at the door and she jumped. "I will be another moment," she snapped at the guard, knowing he was to escort her to  _Voldemort's_  throne room as soon as she was ready.

Collecting herself, she stepped out from behind the partition and crossed the room to put on all those ridiculous adornments. "All right, Hermione, this is no different than it was for any of the other girls who were gifted or sold to someone they did not like."

Nodding and steeling her nerves, she slid her feet into the equally ridiculous sandals. Finally—but not without wondering if it might not be less painful to simply fling herself out the nearest window—she walked to the door and opened it.

She ignored the roaming gaze of the guard, who she thought looked rather like he was ready to melt into a puddle of goo at her feet, and held her head high as she swept out into corridor. Hermione was certain she'd never focused so much on keeping her shoulders squared and her spine straight in all her life.

She nearly fumbled as she reached the main doors to the throne room. Pausing for only the briefest moment, she drew a calming breath, and then proceeded through the entrance.

The room was empty, save for Voldemort looking  _far_  too comfortable upon the throne, and a knight in full armor posted on other side of the dais.

As she stepped in, he rose from the gilded seat and crossed the dais. "Well, we do look appetizing, don't we?"

His voice was rich and deep, but it only made Hermione hate him more. Those thick, dark curls, and light blue eyes, that perfect, unblemished skin . . . No one as wicked as he should have any right to be handsome.

The girl was, for all outward appearances, the picture of poised, graceful perfection. All outward appearances, save one. A smile crept across his lips as he noted the defiant glimmer in her chestnut eyes.

"I see the rumors of your . . . spiritedness are true. Lovely."

Keeping her expression neutral, she managed in a light, airy voice, "What would you have of me, My King?" She thought it a wonder those last two words didn't slice her tongue on the way out.

Those unfortunately beautiful blue eyes brightened as he reached his hand out to her. "I am ever so glad you asked, my pet."

She wasn't even certain how she held her composure as she obediently placed her hand in his. Following him up onto the dais, she barely kept herself from protesting when he sat on the throne and tugged her into his lap. This was  _no_  such behavior for the throne room!

He bit his lower lip as he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, holding her gaze all the while. "My, my. You really  _do_  loathe me, don't you?"

Hermione only stared at him, refusing to even blink.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? My understanding is pets don't always like their masters." He dropped his gaze, his attention falling to her lips as he went on. "Liking isn't really a requirement, is it?"

He trailed his fingers along the side of her throat, and still she showed nothing.

"It is also my understanding," he said softly as he circled her hips with his other arm, securing her in place, "that every pet has a trigger. All I need is to find yours."

His fingers continued grazing her skin, down along her arm, up her side. He avoided any more-delicate areas—that would be too easy—as he brought his hand back up toward her throat. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he gently raked her scalp with his nails.

A blink.

Eyes narrowing, he watched her expression as he drew his hand forward a little, brushing the edge of his thumb along her ear.

At that, she shivered. The glimmer in her gaze shifted from defiant to defeated.

"And there we are." Once more, he sank his fingers into her hair, tilting her head.

Hermione felt her skin flush as he leaned closer, as his warm breath whispered over her throat. Of their own volition, her eyes drifted closed as he ran the tip of his tongue along her ear. Again she shivered, and he chuckled before closing his mouth around her earlobe to nibble and suckle at it.

Before she realized, she was pressed more closely to him, making soft little pleading sounds. The hand at her hips drew upward, tickling along her skin through the filmy gauze to brush the backs of his knuckles around one of her nipples in teasing circles.

"She can't stay," a female voice called out from the entrance of the room.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked to find Dame Bellatrix there. Arms folded beneath her robes, the dark-haired woman didn't look upset; she looked bored.

Voldemort paid her little mind, only lifting his mouth from Hermione's skin long enough to reply. "Don't be jealous, Bellatrix."

"It isn't jealousy. I just saw that entire display. Defiance like hers can only be quelled with your tricks but so long, my love. You force this upon her, and you will be breeding a viper in our midst."

He shook his head, sighing as he tugged down the shoulder of Hermione's dress to lap at the bared skin. "You worry too much."

Hermione could only stare at the exquisite, pale woman with the enormous dark eyes as he went on as though no one had spoken. But the woman was ignoring her, watching Voldemort.

"She goes," Bellatrix said, her voice hard. "Or you find another sorceress willing to do your bidding."

Sighing, he at last pulled back. Setting a slightly disheveled Hermione on her feet, he stood. "Fine. Send her to the auction house with the rest of the Potters' trinkets."

The color drained from the girl's face—a change difficult to miss after seeing her cheeks so full of color mere moments ago.

"Nothing personal, my dear," he said, cupping her breasts as he spoke, as though he wanted to touch her just once more before giving her away. "Magick wins wars these days."

Voldemort stepped back, and Bellatrix snapped her fingers. One of the palace guards trotted through the doors to escort Hermione from the room.

The Dark Lord was both mildly amused and impressed at the way the girl effortlessly regained that graceful poise and composure as she stepped down from the dais and headed to the door. Too bad, really. He imagined it would have been so fun learning other ways to turn her own body against her.

Bellatrix turned her head, watching as the girl continued down the corridor and disappeared around the bend which led to the grand foyer. She held in a relieved breath. That had been  _too_  close. She knew if the Mothers at Solitude had sensed magic in that girl, they  _never_  would have gifted her away.

She knew if Voldemort had sensed it, he might've considered that he did not need  _her_.


	2. The Forgotten Practice of Sampling

**Chapter Two**

The Forgotten Practice of Sampling

The last thing she expected to see as she was ushered through the entrance of the auction house doors was a familiar face. Really, Hermione'd only been too grateful for the cloak which one of the guards had thrown over her shoulders that concealed most of her dress to notice anything else.

"Hermione!"

The soft, tinkling voice brought a smile to her face before she even looked for the source. There, seated at the feet of the house's owner, was one of her Sisters.

"Luna," Hermione said, her heart calmed at the sight as the other girl stood, smoothing her delicate hands along her golden slip as she walked over. "I had no idea you'd been sold!"

The petite blonde gave that serene smile Hermione remembered so well as they embraced. "I knew I'd see you here," Luna said in her ear. She pulled back to hold the only-slightly-taller girl at arm's length. "Once the auctioneers heard about my gift, they pooled their personal resources to afford me."

"So they . . . ." Hermione glanced about, counting five men in the same style suit, with the same amber pin bearing the auction house's symbol on their lapels. "They  _all_  own you?"

Luna's head tipped to one side, her owl-like blue eyes blinking slowly as she nodded.

Hermione's eyes shot wide. Girls with gifts fetched pretty Notes, so they were sold rather than gifted away. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that a girl who could predict things would be valuable to an establishment which relied so heavily upon costumer preference.

Still,  _five_  men? And they  _all_  had ginger hair, she wondered if they were related. She couldn't begin to imagine, but then Pansy always  _did_ warn Hermione that for all of her intellect, she had an astounding lack of imagination.

Brow furrowing, she offered a charming smile to the men watching their conversation so closely. "Do . . . ?" She cleared her throat and tried again, dropping her voice to a whisper, "Do they _all_  partake of you?"

Luna blushed and giggled, casting her gaze downward as they were taught. "No. In that respect, I only belong to the twins, Master Fred and Master George. Ron is . . . Master Ron is . . . somewhere. He's always getting himself in trouble. Master Percy, the one behind the desk is the clerk, he handles the finances and legal matters. Master Bill is in charge of the auctions. Technically, their father owns the house, but he is almost never in, and there's another son, Charlie, but I never see him, either. Has his hands full raising exotic creatures, if I recall."

Hermione struggled to keep her attention from wandering back to the two men she'd  _thought_  looked identical a moment ago. Twins? Honestly!

"You are going to fetch quite a Note, I've seen it!" Luna turned, slipping her arm beneath the cloak to link arms with Hermione and lead her through the main corridor.

Hermione's pulse picked up at that. "Can you see who will purchase me?"

The blonde shook her head. "That's not clear. They didn't even put you in the auction program. The Weasley Brothers decided it best to circulate a rumor that you would be an item on the block, but not actually anything concrete."

Frowning, Hermione looked around at the men preparing the auction house for the sale of the former Crown's valuables, once more. "Why not?

Luna smiled sagely. "Because mystery and curiosity are bigger draws than even the thought of a pretty new pet. They call to a crowd like nothing else."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy arched his brow at the sound of tapping from his chamber window. He looked to find a raven perched upon the granite sill. Sweeping his long, pale hair over his shoulders, he stood and crossed the room.

He'd recognize those crimson designs dyed into the bird's shiny, onyx feathers, anywhere.

Taking the wax-sealed envelope from the creature's beak, he opened it carefully. He mindlessly stroked a finger over the bird's sleek head as he looked over the missive.

_Something of interest for you and your son at Weasley Acquisitions. A pretty new bauble which will suit the Manor, and its masters, quite well._

_Ever your friend, V._

_P.S. Hope you enjoy the gift wrap._

Smirking, Lucius called a servant to fetch a treat for the bird before sending it on its way. And here he'd thought passing along information about the Potter soldiers' troop movements would be its own reward.

"Draco," he said, holding the missive to the nearest lantern and setting it ablaze—he couldn't have a friendly letter from the  _Usurper_  found in his home.

The young man poked his head into the room. "Yes, Father?"

"I am stepping out. I will return shortly, hopefully with something quite . . .  _interesting_."

Draco grinned, nodding. He knew that tone. "All right. I will trust your judgement."

* * *

"Don't be so nervous," Luna whispered, gently smoothing her hands along Hermione's arms.

She'd been forced to shed the cloak, and so now stood behind the curtain upon the stage waiting in her awful sheer dress that only played at leaving something to the imagination. Luna was trying  _so_ hard to put her at ease, but not knowing who would own her—not knowing what her life would be in just a short while—made Luna's attempts fail.

It didn't help that she could hear Bill's voice just on the other side of the thick, dark folds, calling out prices and visitor numbers.

"I didn't want to do this," Luna said, shaking her head as she noticed her Sister's continued agitation, "but you leave me no choice."

Before Hermione could ask what she meant, the other girl leaned close, as though to whisper. She closed her lips around Hermione's earlobe and nibbled.

Hermione's posture relaxed instantly—even giving into a tiny tremor—and she sagged against Luna.

Luna hugged her, but pulled away enough to meet her gaze. "Better?"

Letting out a breath, Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

"And now, as I understand it, we're rumored to have a . . . rather precious item, indeed," she heard Bill say—odd how that sentence sounded so much louder than anything else he'd said. "My darling pet, Luna, do we  _have_  any such item?"

Smiling encouragingly at Hermione, Luna dropped her arms from her Sister's shoulders, but took her hand. Lacing their fingers together, she squeezed gently and started toward the curtain.

Hermione inhaled deeply, holding her head high and squaring her shoulders. She'd steeled herself when facing Voldemort, she could handle this.

Luna stepped out first and the crowd roared.

Even Hermione almost laughed when Bill said, "Stop it, this one's mine."

"I present to our esteemed visitors the pet of our former Prince," Luna said, her soft voice somehow carrying through the room.

Bill swept back the curtain, fully and Hermione managed to refrain from forcing a gulp down her throat as she stepped forward.

Hermione knew what she looked like in this ridiculous, revealing dress and monstrous pile of glittering, jeweled accents. She stood as tall as she could make herself, her spine perfectly straight as she looked out over the crowd.

For several strained heartbeats, there was silence. And then, all at once, the entire room seemed to explode in shouts.

"Honestly, ladies and gentleman!" Bill said, impressing Hermione that despite not raising his voice, he was heard over the noise. "I know she's quite a lovely thing, but wait until I've given you the starting bid!"

The crowd quieted and Hermione thought for certain if not for Luna beside her, she'd have collapsed on the spot.

"Fred, fetch this captivating creature a seat, will you?" Bill shot the audience a scathing look as he said, "Once  _she_  is comfortable, we'll begin the bidding."

A ginger-haired man stepped onto the stage carrying a velvet-cushioned stool. He smiled winningly at Hermione, and winked at Luna. As he drew close, Hermione recalled what Luna had said her Masters names were.

He set down the stool, and took Hermione's free hand, guiding her to sit. He was rather handsome up-close. And Luna had  _two_  of him. Hermione thought it a wonder she wasn't blushing at the realization, alone.

At last, Luna let go of her hand. She didn't turn her head to watch as Fred escorted her Sister from the stage. That would be a poor show. She was here for this crowd, they would have her attention.

Bill pivoted to face her, catching her gaze. "Well, lovely one? Are you comfortable?"

"Quite," she said, making certain her voice was clear and steady. "Thank you for the kindness, Mr. Weasley."

"You see?" Bill returned his attention to the auction house's visitors. "What a fine pet she would make someone. For the right price, of course. Let us start the bidding at five thousand Note."

Hermione just barely kept her eyes from widening. That much to  _start_? Was he mad? But a hand shot up, and then another, and another. Bill was calling out numbers so fast, she could hardly keep up.

Somehow, they'd gotten to twenty thousand, before a deep, gravelly voice cut across the room. "Fifty thousand Note."

Gasps sounded throughout the room and the entire crowd turned as one. Hermione could only stare out, as well, her jaw dropping ever so slightly.

She recognized the man strolling toward the stage. Through a window, she'd seen him entering the palace a few times. He'd attended the former King's council meetings, hadn't he? His sleek, platinum hair against that rick, black cloak with all those silver buttons was rather unforgettable.

"Lord Malfoy, is this an official bid?"

A smirk curved Lord Malfoy's lips. "I would not have said it otherwise, dear boy."

Bill nodded, clearing his throat. "Fifty thousand Note. Do I hear fifty-five?"

A hand went up.

"Fifty-five. Do I hear sixty?"

Lucius' grey eyes rolled. "Seventy-five thousand."

Bill's jaw fell slack, his gaze jumping to Lord Malfoy's face. The crowd was so quiet, Hermione thought she could hear them breathing.

The young woman, herself, was riveted to her seat—if only she wasn't the object of this event, she might find herself fascinated by the play before her.

"D—do I hear eighty?"

No one made a peep.

"Ah," Lucius said, stepping up onto the stage. "Good."

Hermione looked from Bill, to Lord Malfoy, and back. Surely this brazen behavior couldn't be acceptable for such affairs.

"Sold to Lord Malfoy for—"

"However, I would like to _sample_ the merchandize before finalizing the purchase."

After a moment to process the request, Bill nodded. Sampling was common practice when pets were on the block, but they ended up in auction so rarely that he'd actually forgotten about it. "Of course, Lord Malfoy. We have a number of lovely rooms on the second level from which you may ch—"

"No, no. That is not necessary."

Hermione had all she could do to keep from slipping off the stool as he drew close.

"You mean to do this here? But sir!"

Lucius ignored Bill's protests and moved to stand before the girl. She was, indeed, as  _interesting_  as Voldemort suggested. Yet, it wasn't enough to simply purchase her, no. He wanted everyone present to get a  _sample_  of exactly what they'd missed out on by being unable to outbid him.

Bill stepped from behind the podium, but Lucius raised his hand, halting the young man in place. "Five thousand Note, extra if you stop being a pest."

Lord Malfoy crooked his finger beneath Hermione's chin and lifted her face. She couldn't stop herself from meeting his gaze.

Smirking, he let his hand drift down, tracing along her jaw. Circling her neck, his gloved fingers brushed her ear and she trembled, for only the briefest second, but he noticed.

The crowd watched in awed silence as Lucius cupped her breasts, kneading them through the sheer, glittering black material. Her head dropped forward and she bit her lip, yet a small, pleading sound escaped.

"My, your body is rather sensitive," he remarked as he moved one hand lower, trailing down over her abdomen and then sideways to her hip. "I wonder, did the prince use you that often, or are all of the Sisters of Solitude . . .  _ready_  so easily?"

Hermione couldn't answer, and once more the hand at her breast lifted, catching her chin and raising her face to look at him. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks; knew the redness deepened, further, as she held his gaze.

"I've always found it impressive," he said, as he tugged the length of her dress up over her thighs, "that pets never seem to lose their ability to blush."

His fingers slipped between her knees, and he tipped his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. "You will open to me."

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Hermione reached backward, gripping the stool for balance. Her face reddened further, still, as she parted her legs. Her only reprieve was that he stood before her, blocking the crowd's view of that most intimate area.

"Good girl," he said, his voice soft and placating as his gloved fingers skimmed along her inner thigh.

The first brush of his leather-clad hand made her gasp. He smiled at the sound and she found she couldn't look away from the grey eyes before her.

He leaned closer, his face right over hers, his warm breath ghosting over her lips as he stroked her in quick, teasing circles. The little moans his ministrations drew from her were so . . .  _perfect_. Music to his ears, actually.

His fingers pressed against her harder and she whimpered, unable to help herself as she started moving against his hand.

"My, my." He grinned, finding himself quite fascinated by her quickened breath and flushed skin. "You  _are_  a good girl, aren't you?"

She couldn't answer, gripping the stool tighter as his fingers worked faster. Her body began to tense and she arched her back.

He rewarded her, dipping his head to catch on of her nipples between his teeth and nibbling at her through the gauzy material.

Her head fell back as his hand moved against her faster, still, pushing her over the edge. The sweet, hiccupping cry that escaped her as she came rang through the room, seeming to echo off the walls in the silence.

As her orgasm ebbed, she moved again, rocking her hips, grinding herself against his fingers. He held his hand still, now, letting her do the work.

She felt dazed as the delicious little aftershocks tore through her. He let her nipple slip from between his lips and stood straight again, pulling his hand back only after the last tremor left her.

Hermione watched, strangely enthralled as Lord Malfoy lifted his fingers to his lips. Lapping at the glistening leather, his smile widened.

"Well, now . . . . I suddenly wonder if I should have bid  _more_. She is certainly worth it."

The crowd exploded again, causing Hermione to jump, as men and women shouted out new bids. Bill, recovering from shock, himself, turned toward the crowd, ready to consider their offers.

Lucius faced the crowd, as well, his brows lifted and his expression questioning. After a moment, he'd had enough of listening to the rabble, and he stepped over to Bill. He leaned close, whispering something in the young man's ear.

There was a moment of Bill pulling away to meet Lord Malfoy's gaze with wide eyes. Malfoy simply nodded and made a dismissive waving gesture.

Bill brought down the gavel. "Sold to Lord Lucius Malfoy for one hundred fifty thousand Note!"

Again, silence fell. Hermione thought the whirl of silence-sound-silence might make her dizzy.

Lord Malfoy snapped his fingers and an elf toddled up onto stage. The creature handed him a booklet and pen. His expression now all business, the man signed out the Note and tore it free.

Hermione rather thought Bill looked as though he believed the Note might catch fire the moment he touched it. Despite his obvious caution, there was no hiding the pleased gleam in his eye as he took it and read the number over a few times.

"Come along now, Pet," Lucius said in a bored, airy tone, as he whirled on his heel and stepped from the stage.

Taking a breath, she collected herself as quickly as she could manage and stood—grateful her legs were cooperating. She held her head high, once more, her spine straight, shoulders squared, as she trailed along behind her new master.

* * *

"Understand this," he said moments later as she followed him along the street, both diligently ignoring the gawking of passersby. "I am aware the freedom you were allowed in the palace. In my home, you will  _not_ be so defiant and forward as you were with the young prince. You are no more than pretty bauble. Yet, one which can quite easily find itself bent over the nearest piece of furniture whenever her new masters wish to have her."

She nearly stumbled as she hurried to keep up with his long-legged strides, his words sinking in. "My apologies, Master Malfoy—?"

"Master Lucius," he corrected with a sly smirk. "Or things will get rather confusing, rather fast."

Shaking her head, she tried again, his words only confirming her thoughts, but she still needed to hear it. "My apologies, Master Lucius. Did you say  _masters_?"

"Oh, yes," he said with a shrug. "Although you are my property, you are also a gift for my son."

Hermione halted in her tracks, her flawless training failing her as she tried to grasp that. Her gaze fell to the street, wandering little cracks and crevices between the flat, dark stones beneath her feet.

Belonging to this man  _and_ his son? And she'd thought Luna belonging to twins was scandalous! But then, after what Lord Lucius Malfoy had just done in front of an entire room of auction house visitors, she thought perhaps _a little_  scandalous behavior was a slow day for him.

She looked up, finally, to find her new master a few meters ahead of her. His expression was unnervingly stern as she met his gaze.

"Step lively, Pet," he snapped.

Forcing a gulp, she nodded and hurried to catch up. "Of course, Master Lucius, my apologies," she said through clenched teeth.

He arched a brow, but decided to let that slide for the moment. He would remember that flicker of defiance perfectly well once they were within the walls of Malfoy Manor.


	3. Reward & Punishment

**Chapter Three**

Reward & Punishment

Hermione swallowed hard as she stared up at the looming, ebony estate house. Lord Malfoy proceeded ahead of her, the tiny elf servant at his side, and unlocked the high-polished double doors as he let her take in the sight. He was well aware the grand, dark manor was a bit much to those standing before it for the first time.

Pushing open the doors, he turned to look at her as Dobby hurried inside. After her little slip outside the auction house, she'd maintained the image of the perfect pet the rest of the way back to Malfoy Manor. He had a carriage, of course, but walking the entire trip rather than riding allowed so many more people to see—and appropriately envy—his newest possession.

Indeed, even now as she gaped at the black spires with their perched gargoyles and precious, stained glass windows, she held herself perfectly. He often found it amusing how those in her place were taught to carry themselves with such a regal air, though he supposed that was to be expected, given how highly sought-after a belonging they were. She  _was_  quite a sight, though—with her wild golden-brown hair tumbling about her shoulders and spilling down her back, those huge, deceptively innocent chestnut eyes.

_Hope you enjoy the giftwrap_ , Voldemort's missive had said, and now Lucius couldn't help the grin curving his lips at how very much he did appreciate the presentation of her. His gaze traced over her . . .  _womanly attributes_  through the sheer, glittering black fabric of her dress. The young woman was slender, but well-proportioned for how slight she was.

Somehow the gems and gold encircling her arms and throat only managed to make the rest of her seem more bared to the eye. What a lovely effect.

He tapped his walking stick soundly against the tiled floor, just inside the entrance. Her gaze snapped to lock on his before she nodded and moved to stand beside him. Lucius wondered if perhaps she was more openly obedient now because she'd had the walk across the city to grapple with her ownership changing hands three times in as many days, or if she had put on more of a show because they'd been in public.

_Interesting_ , he thought. He'd certainly have to come up with a way to find out which it was.

He hooked a finger into one of the golden bangles around her wrist and tugged her through the doors behind him. He allowed her no time to look around, no moment to absorb her new home. That could wait.

Now,  _now_ , they had business to discuss.

Hermione looked over her shoulder toward the entryway as Master Lucius dragged her along at a steady pace. The tiny elf hurried to close the doors and then turned, giving her a quick, encouraging smile—though, she had the feeling the creature didn't want their owner to see the expression—before he toddled off down one of the many winding corridors that branched from the massive foyer.

She found herself pulled into a sitting room. Lucius spared a moment to reach around her and close the door. She barely refrained from arching a suspicious brow as he flicked the lock into place.

"You are likely wondering where your other master is. I assure you, he  _is_  here, and you will meet him momentarily," he said as he continued across the floor, still tugging her along behind him.

He turned and seated himself neatly in a plush armchair in the center of the room. Finally slipping his finger from her bracelet, he slid his hands over her hips and guided her to sit, perched on one of his thighs.

Hermione bit her lip, dropping her gaze to the richly textured carpet. Suddenly alone with him, she felt more exposed and nervous than she had even when he'd been sampling her on the auction house stage in front of an entire room of onlookers.

"You and I are going to have a chat now, Pet."

She forced a small, sweet grin as she said, "About what, Master Lucius? I think you'll find I'm versed in quite a large number of topics."

She lifted her gaze to meet his and whatever she might've said next died on her lips. The look he was giving her was completely serious, and not at all unkind, but something  _else_ , entirely. And that something else caused her breath to catch in her throat and warmth to flood her cheeks.

"We are going to discuss the means by which you will be punished for misbehavior."

Her eyebrows shot up and some of that lovely color drained from her face just as quickly as it had rushed in. "Punished, Master Lucius?"

Lucius sank his teeth into his bottom lip and simply held her gaze for a long, breathless moment. She was just  _too_ adorably precious.

"You see," he began, as he turned her and pulled her back against him, "I have found that what works best is treatment to which the party being punished is wholly unaccustomed."

He swept her hair away from her neck and leaned his mouth closer to her skin. She couldn't help the way her lids drifted shut at feel of his breath ghosting along the side of her throat while he spoke. "So in order to decide on something effective, I must know that for which your past discipline called."

She inhaled, calm and deep, but it proved a useless effort as his arms tightened around her. How was he getting to her so easily with such simple movements?

"I'm not certain what you mean, Master Lucius."

"I speak of your training in Solitude, of course."

Hermione couldn't help turning her head a little to meet his gaze over her shoulder. His face was so very close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

"My training? The Mothers disciplined us by—"

"No." His expression turned harsh and stern for a fleeting second. "I do not care about that. I am asking how your  _Trainers_ handled you."

Those chestnut eyes widened and her mouth fell open, but she couldn't voice a reply. No one was supposed to know about  _them_!

"You see," he said as he traced a gloved fingertip up along her arm, "it's the great myth of Solitude, isn't it? That the girls come to their Master's care,  _wholly_ untouched, yet capable of such perfect responses? A physical purity that even withstands medical and magical scrutiny. Everyone has always wondered about it, of course, which is part of the appeal of owning one of Solitude's beautiful pets."

Hermione had to force a gulp down her throat. She'd sworn herself never to think of them, again. "How . . . how do you . . . ?"

"Because, my pet, two people quite close to me are Trainers." He shrugged and pulled one of her dress straps down over her shoulder. "While I know that—the simple fact that they  _exist_ , which no one else outside of Solitude knows—I have never been able to get them to divulge to me how it is they train the girls while upholding an oath to  _never_ actually touch them."

"We're not permitted to speak of them," she whispered.

Lucius' ears perked at the tone running beneath her soft, tumbling words. Fear? No, no . . . sadness. Oh, there was probably quite the good story behind that, but  _that_  would wait for later.

"I thought as much, but I already know of them. So, you will tell me." He circled her with his arms, once more, to cup her breasts. Kneading the soft, warm flesh, he continued, "How were you trained if they could not touch you? I want to know  _everything_."

She didn't want to answer, but she'd never been the subject of punishment before—not  _truly_ —and not knowing what Master Lucius might have planned if she didn't cooperate nudged an explanation out of her. She ignored the notion that his massaging fingers had anything to do with it.

"Two . . . two trainers are assigned to each group of girls."

"Mm-hmm. And how many are in each group?" One hand slipped from her breasts and sank down into her lap.

"Only four." She dropped her gaze, watching as his gloved hand began tugging the length of her dress up her legs.

He turned his head, his lips moving against her ear as he spoke. "Who else was with you?"

"Their . . . ." She shivered and found herself reaching up to curve her hand around the back of his neck. "Their names are Parvati, Luna, and Pansy."

"Parvati? A foreign-born, interesting. And Luna? That lovely little thing from the auction house?"

She nodded and was rewarded with him catching her earlobe between his teeth and nibbling for a few moments. She couldn't help moving in his lap, as though trying to get closer to him.

Lucius gently nudged apart her knees to trace the tips of his fingers along her skin. "Were you all together when your Trainers handled you?"

She shook her head, but then caught herself. She didn't want to think what might happen if he somehow found out she worked a fib into this. "Not often, only when they came into the baths."

"My, my, this gets more and more intriguing. I must say I nearly envy them." He teased along her inner thighs, but went no further, drawing almost near enough to stroke against her, but then retreating, again and again.

Hermione wanted to grab his hand and force his fingers against her, but she didn't dare. She let her free hand fall against the armrest, instead, gripping her nails into the upholstery.

"Now, again," he said, pausing as he darted his tongue out to lap at the pulse in her throat. "How  _did_ they train you without any physical contact?"

"They had . . . ." She had to remind herself to breath. "They jokingly referred to them as tools."

"Mmm, 'tools of the trade,' amusing," he murmured, smiling against her skin. "What were these tools? How did they use them on you?"

"I would sit however they told me to and then . . . ." She uttered a soft moan as the fingers at her breast roughly pinched her nipple. "They would use the tools to touch me. It could be a feather to tease, or there were leather pads to stroke . . . ."

He gave a delighted chuckle that startled her a little. "So then you like the feel of my glove against you?"

Hermione nodded, blush flooding her cheeks. She hurried on to explain further, trying to bury her embarrassment. "The feathers were used to find our sensitive places. If . . . if we were in the baths, they would use the sponges instead of the leather."

"All this to ensure you responded perfectly to arousal?" He brought his hand close again, and he could feel her tense, expecting him to retreat once more. Instead, he stroked a finger over her once, twice, and then slid into her.

She gasped, shuddering against him. "Y—yes," she replied.

He withdrew and sank into her several times, relishing the way she began to rock her hips after a time, working herself against his hand, as she had at the auction house. "But then, surely there must have been punishment, yes? For . . . unsatisfactory responses? Reward for responding appropriately?"

Again, she nodded, uncertain how he expected her to focus on conversation while he thrust into her like this. "If we . . . responded well, they continued."

"So your reward was that they brought you to orgasm?"

Hermione titled her head, shifting so her ear was pressed to his lips as he spoke. "If we responded poorly, we . . . . We received the paddle."

"So then, you were struck?"

She nodded.

He slipped the hand at her breast down and wedged it between their bodies to cup her bottom. "Here, was it?"

Again, she nodded. Each time his finger slid into her, the heel of his palm rubbed against her. It was all she could do to concentrate on his words.

"Really? So they would get you all worked up and then, if you were not  _just_  right . . . ?"

"Yes."

"I imagine that had an adverse reaction. That a few girls began  _enjoying_  the punishment."

"Some of them, yes," she said, pushing her hips forward to make his finger sink just a little deeper.

"Not you, though. However . . . ." He held his hand steady, then, enjoying letting her work herself against the heel of his palm. "I think you did, once or twice,  _respond_  to the punishment, didn't you?"

She winced, ashamed that he read such a thing so easily from her.

He tutted and shook his head. "No need for embarrassment, Pet. You see . . . ." He gave into her, returning to thrusting his finger inside her as she moved. "Pain and pleasure are actually quite closely linked; it is no surprise, then, that if you were already worked up, a sudden flash of pain would push you over the edge.

"Did they ever bind you?"

She shook her head, before turning, ever so slightly. She leaned up, lapping and biting at his throat.

He fell quiet as he slid his hand out from beneath her and wrapped his arm around her waist, forcing her to still against him. Her pleading little sounds of protest as she nipped at him were sweet, indeed, and he answered by thrusting into her harder and faster.

Hermione braced herself against him, her body tensing against the strokes of his delving, leather-clad hand. She dropped her head back against his shoulder, screaming behind closed lips as she came. Her fingers behind his neck raked at his scalp, bunching into a fist in his hair.

She moaned and shivered in his embrace, holding her body tense for as long as she could, for as long as she could stand it until the delicious ripples coursing through her became too much. Falling back against him, she moved again, lifting her hips toward his hand, and pulling back, over and over as little aftershocks of warmth rocked through her.

After she finally stilled, her fingers slipping from his hair and relaxing her grip on the armrest, he withdrew his hand. "That shall be it, then," he said, his lips moving against her throat. "You have always been allowed release in one form, or another. Should you misbehave, you will be bound, teased until you are _right_  on the brink . . . and then left alone."

She nodded in a show of understanding, as she didn't think her voice would work just now. That sounded awful . . . best that she strive not to disappoint him, then. But, Hermione supposed, he could have thought of far worse punishments.

Hermione was surprised that, as she caught her breath, he shifted her body to cradle her in his lap. It seemed such an oddly gentle and loving gesture, and that did not equate at  _all_ with anything else she'd witnessed, or sensed about him.

The girl chose not to think on it too much. Instead, she rested her cheek against the hollow of Lucius' shoulder and listened as he ran the through itinerary of an average day at Malfoy Manor for her. Paid vague attention as he listed the rooms where she was allowed, or wasn't.

Thinking too much had nearly gotten her into trouble when he'd asked about her Trainers. If she'd slipped and mentioned Sirius and Severus by name . . . . But she  _hadn't_ , she reminded herself.

_They_  were safe, even if the secret of Solitude wasn't.


	4. Meeting Master Draco

**Chapter Four**

Meeting Master Draco

Hermione darted her gaze about the corridor as Master Lucius once more tugged her along, his leather-clad finger curled into one of the many gold circles 'round her wrist. She wondered dully if this wasn't a less formal precursor for something else—perhaps he was preparing her for being pulled about on a leash.

All the girls had heard stories of Masters who applied the term _pet_ a bit more literally than most. She knew she'd balk at the sight of a leash, but she honestly had no idea if the notion was horrifying or appealing.

"My apologies, Master Lucius," she said, her voice so soft it was nearly lost beneath the sound of their footfalls. "But am I going to meet Master Draco, now?"

"Yes, my pet," he replied over his shoulder, a distracted air about him at the moment.

He stopped before a door and tapped his knuckles twice against the gleaming dark wood. When no response came, he tilted his head curiously and turned the knob. Pushing the door open, he peeked in to find one of the elves tidying the room.

"Young Master Malfoy is bathing," the creature informed him without looking up from its task.

Lucius seemed to consider that a moment as he shut the door. "Ah." He nodded. "Perfect. Come along, Pet."

Hermione bit hard into her bottom lip to keep from questioning his apparent decision. They were going to interrupt someone bathing just to make an introduction? That seemed . . . rather _odd_ , actually.

Baths were times of cleansing and relaxation. She couldn't imagine this Master Draco was going to be very pleased about that.

Once more, Lucius tugged her to a halt. She watched as he knocked on the door before him—different from the last in that the knob was polished crystal—and then dropped his hand to wait. She cast a quick glace along the corridor, noting which doors had the same crystal knob.

_My, that's a_  lot _of washrooms,_  she thought, trying to recall if even the palace had as many.

"Honestly, Dobby," a deep, irritated filtered out into the corridor. "Just leave it inside the door."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in question. Before she could even decide whether or not to ask what the other man could be talking about, Master Lucius caught her gaze over his shoulder. "He sometimes forgets to ask the servants to fetch him fresh towels, or a change of clothes, perhaps. Has a bit of a penchant for walking down the corridor naked when that happens."

Her jaw dropped and a blush flooded her cheeks as she tried to picture this man she'd not even seen, yet, strutting about in the open, bare as the day he was born.

"He does it to embarrass which ever servant didn't think to supply the items  _before_  he had to ask," Lucius explained in a low, amused tone.

She couldn't help a brief wonder if—were  _she_  the servant in question—she'd ever be tempted to forget such a thing on purpose, under those circumstances. Her blush deepened and she was a little startled at the direction of her thoughts, but then, she was likely going to be at Malfoy Manor a while; perhaps she was simply already adjusting to the atmosphere of her new home.

Or perhaps she wasn't as easily scandalized as her training forced her to believe she was.

Dobby scurried toward them at that moment, an armful of fresh, precisely folded black towels weighing down the tiny creature. He cleared his little throat, displaying his burden as Lucius and Hermione turned their attention to him.

Lucius' grey eyes lit up—in a strange way that gave Hermione a bit of a start—as he unhooked his finger from her bracelet. "Perfect. My darling pet, take those from him, will you?"

Nodding, she stooped and slid her arms around the towels. As she stood straight, again, Lucius opened the door and stepped aside.

She realized what he'd intended as soon as he asked her to take the towels, but she still couldn't help looking from the hazy plumes of steam pouring into the corridor to Master Lucius, and back.

He swept his free hand toward the interior of the washroom. "Go on, then. Take in the towels and introduce yourself to your other Master."

Dropping her gaze to the dark bundle of fabric in her arms, she told herself the sudden heat in her face was from the steam. Hermione nodded, but found herself forcing a gulp down her throat. For all she knew, the man waiting inside was a toad.

Squaring her shoulders and steeling herself, she walked past Lucius and stepped into the room. The sound of the door closing behind her seemed terribly final.

Her gaze swept about the unexpectedly large room, taking in gleaming, crimson tiles, darkly-colored throws scattered across the floor, the off-white porcelain basin with the matched sink beside it. At the far end was a fireplace with gilded trim, and in the center of the room . . . .

The sleek, damp head of silver-blond hair turned to look toward the door. "Dammit, Dobby, I said just—" His words died on his lips as he saw Hermione standing there.

Immediately she dropped her gaze to the towels in her arms, fearing that this was some horrible joke. She must've done something to disappoint Master Lucius, already, and sending her in here—probably to be punished by his son for interrupting his bath—was his response.

So much for binding her up . . . .

"I am so terribly sorry, Master Draco," she said, surprised her whispering voice was steady. "Your father asked me to bring the towels in and introduce myself. I thought you might be angry, but it isn't my place to—"

"Shh," he said, one hand raised from the steaming water. " _You_  are what my father went to get when he left earlier?"

Uncertain, she lifted her gaze. She hadn't truly looked at him a moment ago, but now . . . .  _Oh, dear God, worse than a toad . . . he's_ beautiful.

"I—I suppose I am."

He sat up in the water and turned fully to face her. "And you would be . . . ?"

"My name is Hermione, Master Draco. Formerly the pet of our prince, but now I belong to you and Master Lucius."

Those grey eyes moved over her in a slow once-over. Goodness, she thought, the family resemblance was strong. They had the same eyes, the same straight nose, the same mouth—the full bottom lip, and an upper lip that was almost too thin. The same arched brows beneath thick, pale locks. If Master Draco's hair were longer—down to the middle of his back as Master Lucius' was, rather than to his shoulders, as it looked now, wet and swept back—the young man could nearly be his father's double, given a little show of age around his eyes and mouth, of course.

A smirk curved those beautiful lips—Hermione was caught rather off-guard by a wonder of what it might be like to bite them—as he said, "I was correct to trust his judgment, then."

Her brow furrowed, but as she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, Draco stood up and stepped from the claw-footed tub onto the plush throw on the floor before him. He hid a grin as she quite obviously tried  _not_ to look him over, and failed.

Hermione's gaze touched lean muscles and long, pale limbs, smatterings of golden hair on his legs and forearms . . . and a slightly more distinct trail of darkish-gold dusting just below his navel and leading down to—She forced her attention to the floor.

Her skin was warm—an almost uncomfortable sensation in the steamy room—and she wondered if she was blushing straight down to her toes.

He chuckled at the way her coy-act had slipped just now. "Come here."

Her breath seemed trapped in her ribcage as she moved to stand before him. She couldn't quite look at him, her gaze instead on the throw beneath their feet as she asked, "What would you have of me, Master Draco?"

Draco watched her downturned face for a few heartbeats. "Dry me," he said at last, raising his arms.

Nodding, she set the towels on the floor and grabbed the one at the top of the pile. She took a step to move behind him, but he caught her wrist. Hermione's gaze snapped up to meet his.

His attention shifted from her eyes, to her mouth, and back before he said, "You will stand  _in front_  of me while you dry me."

Nodding again, she returned to where she stood a scant few seconds earlier—he was so close she could feel the warmth of his damp skin through the gauzy fabric of her dress. "Of course, Master Draco," she said, uncertain how she managed to keep her voice from sticking in her throat.

Draco sank his teeth into his bottom lip, watching her expression as he lifted his arms in some meager show of assistance, once more.


	5. Just Say Please

**Chapter Five**

Just Say Please

She stood on her toes, and stretched and reached, turning this way and that as she attempted to stay in place while she rubbed the towel across his skin. From long, elegant and pale fingers, down his arms, to shoulders that were broad for his lean frame.

Already, Hermione'd taken to holding her breath as she moved against him, because each time she inhaled it only pressed her more closely to him. Her dress was damp from sweeping along his wet skin, and if she didn't know any better, she would swear he was moving minutely when she wasn't looking—just enough to brush deliberately against her breasts through the damned gauzy fabric.

Lowering her heels to the floor, she took a deep breath, looking away from him as she let it out slowly. She could feel him staring at her . . . whether at her face, or at the way he'd caused her nipples to tighten, creating distinctive points beneath her flimsy dress, she couldn't be certain.

Avoiding meeting his gaze, she stood on her toes once more as she reached up to dry his hair. She ignored the feel of his warm breath on her lips—bad enough that the press of his skin against hers was constant. There was every chance this was a test, to gauge if she could control herself and  _only_  do what was asked of her, as a  _good_ pet should.

But when a quiet chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat, she couldn't help herself.

"I am sorry, Master Draco, have I done something amusing?" she asked as she ruffled his damp, longish hair with the towel.

Draco grinned, enjoying her obvious effort to focus on her assigned task. "Actually, it's what you haven't done that I find amusing."

Once more, she lowered her heels to the floor. Finally forcing herself to meet his gaze, she furrowed her brow in question.

He bit into his bottom lip, blinking a few times before he decided to share what he found so funny. "All this attention to detail, and yet . . . . You haven't dried a centimeter of my body  _below_ my waist."

Her cheeks flamed as she realized he was right. And she should have known he wasn't going to let her get away with  _not_ doing that.

"My apologies," she said, uncertain quite how her voice was steady with him looking at her like that.

Hermione took the towel between her hands and sank toward the floor, settling on her knees. As she brought the towel around the back of one knee to begin drying his leg—her attention fixed on a single golden hair upon his thigh so her gaze would not wander—he interrupted her.

"With a fresh towel."

She nodded, reaching around him to place the used one over the rim of the tub. His leg jerked against her, just the tiniest bit, just a fraction of movement so that his skin once more brushed against her breast through the damp fabric.

A small, rattling sigh escaped her as she leaned back to take a fresh towel from the top of the small, folded pile. Draco flashed a grin at that—she held her composure, still, but kept giving little signs like that. It wouldn't take much more before she was appropriately tempted, he was certain.

She went back to focusing on that single, short strand of gold as she started drying his legs. Hermione wasn't quite sure what possessed her, but she saved his . . . more sensitive bits for last. Whether she thought to do so because she believed he'd want the extra time and attention paid to that area, or because she was afraid—with her own wayward thoughts from just a scant few minutes ago when she'd first laid eyes upon him—he might be deliberately tormenting her with this task.

Finally she rose up on knees, draping the towel behind him to dry his bum. After a few moments, he made an impatient noise, and she realized she was delaying.

With a deep breath, she brought her hands forward, wrapping her fingers around him gently as she worked the towel along his cock. She stopped the second she was certain he was dry—struggling to ignore the feel of him coming to life beneath her touch—and cupped him with the towel, delicate as she rubbed his last, most tender bits dry.

As she dropped her hands from him and stood, she felt it a wonder her legs didn't wobble beneath her—her knees seemed to have the all the solidity of jelly, just now.

Despite the warmth flooding her cheeks, she forced herself to look at his face. This time, his attention was deliberately trained on her breasts. She managed—how she did so, she had no idea—to keep her breathing steady as she waited for those grey eyes to meet hers.

"Will there be anything else, Master Draco?" she asked when he finally lifted his gaze.

He shook his head. "I was just thinking what a pity it is that you did all that work to dry me, but it looks like I've gone and made you all wet in the process."

That collection of words coupled with the way he stared at her set off a sweet little pulse between her thighs. Swallowing hard, she offered a small shrug. "There's . . . ." Was he leaning closer? "There's nothing to be done for it, I suppose," she whispered, acutely aware that she could now, definitely, feel his breath on her lips as his face lingered ever closer to hers. "I've no other attire."

"You mean to tell me," he said, reaching out to trail his fingers over her skin through the damp, gauzy material, " _this_  is all you have?"

Hermione nodded, a trembling sigh escaping her as his hands closed over her breasts to massage them roughly. "Yes."

He smirked, flicking his tongue out to trace her lips. She reflexively opened to him, but he held back, that smirk widening into a grin.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Pet?"

She could only stare up at him for a long moment, fearing she might've committed some grave misstep by acting before being invited to. "My own desires are of no consequence, Master Draco."

He found her choice of words interesting. She wanted him, but her training prevented her from admitting it.

Draco slipped his hands downward, over her hips and across her thighs, tugging up the length of her dress as he went. " _I_  am asking you to tell me. You will answer."

Hermione's jaw fell a bit as he pressed close for a few, strained heartbeats, the head of his hardened cock pushing ever so slightly between her thighs.

Once more he leaned his face close to hers, his mouth nearly brushing hers as he spoke. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

She knew this was all a game to him—it had to be—that she'd say yes, and he'd push her away with nothing to soothe the sweet, terrible ache he was creating. Yet, she couldn't help herself.

"Yes, Master Draco," she said, her voice so low, she was surprised he heard her.

"Then say ' _please_ , Master Draco,'" he murmured.

She braced herself for being shoved aside, even as she repeated his words. "Please, Master Draco."

He brought his mouth crashing down on hers, his tongue thrusting hungrily between her lips. His fingers clawed at the dress, tearing it from her and dropping the rent fabric to the floor around them.

She wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him while she caressed his tongue with her own. He broke the kiss, dropping his gaze to watch her fingers moving over him.

"Forward little thing, aren't you?"

"So I've been told." Honestly, she was so relieved to have been wrong that she'd grasped him before she had even realized. "Would you like me to stop?"

One corner of Draco's mouth tugged upward in a sly half-grin, wondering how they'd gotten so lucky to find one like  _her_. "I would like  _you_  to put your leg over my hip and guide me inside you."

Nodding, she did as instructed, hooking her leg around him. Using the hand that stroked him, she positioned his cock and moved over him, tensing a little as he sank into her.

A fine tremor shook through his muscles at the feel of her body clenching, warm and tight around his entry. He'd had every intention of starting off gently, but now . . . .

"Bloody hell," he whispered, slipping his arms around her to lift her against him.

Hermione wrapped her other leg around him, as well. She circled his neck with her arms as he took a few steps to pin her against the wall.

Draco braced his palms on either side of her, thrusting into her fast and hard, again and again. There was something so utterly enticing in the way she lifted her hips to receive him, at the way she scraped at his throat with her teeth, lapping at his pulse with the tip of her tongue.

She trembled as she moved beneath him, trying to meet his strokes, to make him sink deeper and harder. He seemed to understand what she wanted, slipping his hands between her body and the wall to grasp her bottom with splayed fingers and titling her pelvis  _just_ so.

Hermione threw her head back, letting out an ecstatic scream as he drove into her harder.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing her ear as he said, "Come for me, Pet."

She stilled, her limbs tightening around him as she forced her muscles taut. Her body gripped him and she pushed herself.

Delving into her just a bit savagely, he used his hands on her to rock her against his motions. He let out a sound like a growl at how she clenched around his thrusting cock as her orgasm ripped through her.

The little, keening moans she made—mixed in with delightful, feverishly whispered phrases, like _Please, Master Draco, harder_ —were absolute perfection to his ears.

Hermione clung to him as the delicious, rippling warmth began to ebb, forcing herself into motion. She tilted her pelvis more, trying to meet his thrusts. Little shuddering gasps escaped her with each sweet, pulsing aftershock.

Nearly the moment the last heated tingle left her—he, too, had a knack for reading her responses, it seemed—he withdrew, setting her on her feet. She thought it good she was against the wall, or her shivering legs might never support her.

He walked to the throw and sank to his knees. Turning his head to meet her gaze, he crooked a finger at her. "Didn't think I was done with you just yet, did you?"

She shook her head, catching her breath—and thinking she'd been correct all along, he _was_  trying to torture her—as she willed her legs into unsteady motion.

As she drew close, he stifled at chuckle at the telltale wobble in her gait. What a sight she made, though, naked and glistening, with all that jewelry glittering and her mass of hair, wild from the steam still in the room.

"On your hands and knees," he said, pointing in front of him.

She tried not to shiver at the note in his voice, alone. Wanting, savage . . .  _hungry_. Hermione stepped in front of him, positioning herself on the throw before him.

"Now," he said, all too aware of her looking at him over her shoulder—of her watching his hand as he idly stroked his cock. "Do you want me to continue?"

When she didn't answer immediately, too distracted by his display, he plunged the fingers of his other hand into her.

Her head fell forward as she moaned, before nodding. "Yes, Master Draco."

He grinned. "Then you know what you have to say."

She leaned down, pressing her elbows to the floor. " _Please_ , Master Draco?"

"Good girl," he said in a cooing voice. Grasping her hips, he sank into her, delighting in the way she muffled a scream against her forearm.

She moved back against him, meeting his thrusts. There was something so wonderful in the small sound of surprise he made—perhaps he expected her not to move?—and she worked herself harder around him, trembling at the delicious edge of pain each time he entered her.

He lost himself, for how long he didn't know, in the feel of her. The way she moved back to meet his motions sent fine tremors wracking his muscles and caused more than a few huffy, moaning breaths to escape him through lightly gritted teeth.

Now it was Draco who trembled, his limbs shaking just a little as his thrusts became frantic and jerking. Finally he stilled in one last, sharp motion and she took over completely. Bracing her palms against the floor for leverage, she rocked back against him, keeping him entering her and withdrawing as he came, groaning behind clenched teeth.

After he'd spent himself, he used his hands on her hips slow her movements, until she stopped.  _Dear gods_ , he thought as he caught his breath,  _if love at first fuck was possible, I might be in trouble._

As he withdrew, entirely, an unexpected wave of exhaustion washed over her. Fighting the compulsion to simply let herself collapse, Hermione lowered herself to throw. As she lay on her side, she wondered at the source and realized—from entering the auction house, to the sampling, to walking across the entire city, to Master Lucius rewarding her in the sitting room for being candid in their discussion, to this moment. Now that she examined it, the source was plainly obvious.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Master Draco," she whispered, her eyes drifting closed. "I seem to have had a  _very_  long day."

Draco wrapped a towel around his hips as he caught his breath, his gaze on her all the while. "You poor thing, wore you out that much, did I?" he asked, again with that cooing tone as he bent and scooped her into his arms. "It is late enough, anyway. Might as well let you rest, I suppose."

* * *

Lucius' brows shot up as he saw them in the corridor. His son—his son with the taste for pointless exposure—covered by a towel as he walked toward his bedroom, their pet cradled in his arms. The young woman looked to be asleep, the sweetness of her slumbering face nearly detracted from how tempting he found her naked form.

"Am I to take it you approve of your gift, then?" Lucius drawled. Stepping up to them, he reached out his finger to gently stroke her hair and push it back behind her ear.

"Oh,  _gods_ , yes," Draco said with a chuckle. "Seems we had a bit of an accident with her dress, though."

Lucius exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he tutted. "Pity."

"It also seems that was the _only_ attire she possesses."

Having the good grace to feign an expression of sympathy, Lucius once more shook his head. "Shame we have nothing here that would suit her. It will take a few days to get a seamstress here to deal with the problem."

Draco hid a grin. "I suppose the sweet little thing will just have to do without, until then."

"Yes, I believe you are right."

The girl made a little sound of contentment in the back of her throat as she shifted in Draco's arms. The Malfoys shared a quiet chuckle at that.

"She said she's had a very long day," Draco explained.

Lucius stepped aside, angling his chin down the corridor toward the bedrooms. "Put her to bed, then." An expression that bordered on actual sympathy touched his features just now. "She  _has_  had a terribly long day."

Draco nodded, stepping past his father as he said over his shoulder. "Shall I put her in my bed, or yours?"

Lucius shrugged, deciding that Draco had  _just_  had her, and looked a little weary, himself. She was more likely to get the rest she needed in his son's bed, than his own. "Yours. I'll take her tomorrow night."


	6. Surprises Are Pleasant

**Chapter Six**

Surprises Are Pleasant

Draco awoke the following morning to find the girl perched on the bureau. Her posture perfectly ladylike, despite where she sat, and she appeared to be examining something on the surface beside her.

Furrowing his brow, he climbed out of bed and went directly to his wardrobe to fetch himself some undergarments. "Good morning, Pet," he said, the words garbled by a yawn.

Hermione started, her gaze flicking toward him for a moment. "Good morning, Master Draco. Did you sleep well?"

He drew a deep breath and exhaled slow, his grey eyes roving the ceiling as he thought. "You know, I did," he said, nodding.

She gave a wistful smile and nodded. Now that she'd had a night to really rest, to adjust to belonging to the Malfoys, she didn't feel quite so turned-around as she had yesterday evening. Of course, she was ignoring that waking first, which had granted her a few peaceful moments to take in his features as he slept—gods, he really was beautiful—had anything to do with it.

All right, so perhaps that was a difficult point to ignore. Her new owners were both rather attractive, and they seemed to be treating her well enough—her notable lack of her own garments, aside. She hadn't realized what a pleasant jolt it would be to wake with his arms curled protectively around her. Even at the palace, when night fell, she was ushered to her own room to sleep.

A twinge of sadness curled around her heart. How was the prince fairing? She knew if Voldemort'd decided to execute the royal family, the entire city of Godric's Hollow would have heard about it by now. No—the usurper couldn't lord his victory over corpses—Harry Potter and his parents were certainly still alive.

Had he remained in the dungeon? Was Voldemort using him as a foot stool? Sighing and shaking her head, she pushed away those thoughts. She was hardly in a position to help them, so there was little use thinking about all that, just now. Instead, she turned her attention back to the display she'd set out beside her.

Draco's brow furrowed, wondering over the subject of her scrutiny as he strolled across the room to her. "What  _have_  you got, there?"

As he drew close, he realized why she looked different than she had last night—more than the lack of heated flush in her pale-peach skin, or her expression no longer one of savage bliss, but calm contemplation. She had removed all that jewelry which had adorned her, even while she'd slept, and laid it out upon the bureau. All she wore were the bejeweled sandals and he spared a moment to consider it odd that hadn't taken them off, as well.

"I may not have the highest opinion of our . . . new king, but I must admit he had lovely accents chosen for me."

Draco's mouth fell open in a little  _O_  of shock as he stepped up and wound his arms around her from behind. Leaning his chin over her shoulder to look at the collection of gold and gemstones, he thought perhaps it best she not learn of his father's history with  _their new king_.

"Bad-mouthing the ruler of our land? Bold little thing, aren't you?"

She giggled, stroking her fingers over his forearms. There was a comfort in this, and she wasn't certain if it was odd, or perfectly rational of her to feel so. "Bold and forward, two of my worst traits."

"Hardly," he said with a chuckle. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "I took them off so you could decide what do to with them more easily."

He arched a brow, leaning a bit and angling his head to meet her gaze. "Why would I decide anything?"

Her features pinched in question. "Because they're yours? And far be it from me to say, but they hardly seem your taste."

He laughed, his head shaking. "You are adorable. But they're not mine, or Father's, for that matter— _you_ are, but not your adornments."

Those wide, chestnut eyes searched his. She truly didn't comprehend what he was saying. "I don't understand."

"What's to understand? They belong to you."

Instantly the tip of her nose stung and tears pinged the corners of her eyes as she cast her gaze over the glittering assortment.

The sudden change in her demeanor, and how shallow her breathing suddenly was alarmed him. "Pet? What's the matter?"

She tried to speak around the lump in her throat. Waiting a moment, she swallowed hard and then tried again. "I've never . . . . I've never owned  _anything_  before."

Her tear-thickened voice caused him to jerk back from her, his arms up as though touching her might set him ablaze. "Are you . . . crying?"

She shrugged and turned her face away, covering her cheeks with her hands. "I'm very sorry for this display, Master Draco." She was a little ashamed, actually, she was supposed to have so much more control than this, but . . . . Her, owning something? She'd never imagined!

"It's . . . ." He forced a gulp and shook his head, but still kept his distance. "I just have never known what to do about crying females."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle through her tears. "Most men don't, as I understand it."

"Dobby," Draco said in a near-shout, causing her to jump a bit.

The little creature  _poofed_  into the room. "Yes, Master?"

He gestured toward the jewelry. "Bring Hermione to her room, and take all of that with you. Do whatever she decides with it."

"Dobby will do as you ask," the elf said with a nod as he toddled over and gathered the adornments into its skinny arms.

Draco held out a hand for Hermione's and assisted her to pop down from the bureau. "My own room?" she asked as her sandaled feet hit the thickly carpeted floor.

"Of course. And yes, everything in there is yours to do with as you please, too." He looked fearful a moment. "Just, please, don't cry, again!"

She laughed, wiping half-heartedly at her drying eyes. "No, I didn't mean . . . . If I have my own room, why did you have me sleep in your bed?"

His brows shot up into the pale fringe of his bangs. "Oh, no. You have a room for daytime, whenever we don't have need of you. At night, you will sleep in my bed, or Father's."

Her own eyebrows drew upward and she felt color flare in her cheeks as she said, "Oh, of course. I suppose, perhaps I should have realized. If you're sending me there, now, does that mean you don't have a use for me at the moment?"

He groaned, letting his head fall back a moment before gathering her in his arms. Pulling her tight against him, he kissed her—savage and hungry, just as he had last night.

Breaking the kiss, he let out a sharp breath and shook his head. "I wish I had time this morning to have use for you, but no. I am due at my grandfather's house for a visit."

He said that last word as though the syllables tasted sour against his tongue and she couldn't help a giggle.

He dropped his arms from her and turned back toward his wardrobe. "Father is out, as well. Overseeing the purchase of some new property, I think. You have the day to yourself until dinner."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Her own possessions, and time to do what she pleased? She didn't have any idea how to process either concept. Even in the palace where life had been wonderful, any time she wasn't servicing the Prince, her days had been tightly ordered.

Rather than pestering him with more questions, she simply nodded. "Thank you, Master Draco," she said, her voice light.

She trailed down the corridor after Dobby—aware of her naked state, but hardly able to do anything about it—toward what she thought was likely the guest wing. The room he opened for her as quite lovely, probably just as lovely as Master Draco's had been, if a touch smaller.

And something was missing.

"There's no bed here?" Of course, Master Draco had emphasized that she would sleep in their beds, but it was still a bit to absorb.

Dobby shook his head, smiling up her. "There was, Miss," he said as he pointed to indentations in the carpet in one corner of the room. "Master had Dobby remove it last night."

She looked from the wide space between the indentations, realizing how large and heavy the frame, alone, must've been. "But Dobby, you're so tiny. How did you ever manage?"

"Magic, Miss," he said his smile widening in pride. "What would Miss have Dobby do with these?" he asked, lifting the glittering armful.

She shrugged, looking about the furniture for any jewelry boxes. As her gaze touched upon the items in the room—two bureaus, a wardrobe, night table, all gorgeously polished cherry wood—her attention snagged on the curtains.

Thick, dark crimson velvet hung to the floor, pulled back with artfully cut strips of black lace to allow natural light into the room. But under the velvet, filtering the morning sunshine . . . . She stepped to the window, reaching out to run her fingertips along the smooth, creamy-white fabric.

It was heavier than that insufferable dress Voldemort had stuck her in. Yet—she pulled the material across her arm—it  _was_  sheer, as well, but only a bit, enough to give a hint of what was beneath. There was something artful about the way the pale material revealed just the lines of her arm beneath.

She looked from the material to the elf still awaiting her answer and the bundle of adornments burdening him just now. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Master Draco said everything in this room is mine to use as I please, yes?"

"He did, Miss."

She grinned at the idea forming—she could vaguely recall hearing the Malfoys' discussion on the edge of her sleep last night. Some rubbish about making her wait days for a seamstress. "Do you ever mend clothing for our masters?"

"Of course, Miss."

Bending to scoop the jewelry from his arms, she said. "Could you kindly fetch me your sewing supplies?"

The little thing seemed confused for a moment. Then his gaze followed the path of her actions—the window dressing, her body, the jewels—and he considered her state of undress.

His eyes lit up and he nodded as he understood. "Of course, Miss," he said again, before _poofing_  from the room.

Her smile grew as she began pulling the dressing from window. She was only grateful Malfoy Manor was so secluded. There would be no neighbors to see the naked girl darting around the room from outside.

* * *

"Now, isn't this pleasant?" Lucius asked, lifting the goblet to his lips and taking a slow, measured sip.

Severus and Sirius exchanged a suspicious glance.

"It is," Severus said, arching a dark brow. "That is what has us worried."

Sirius bit back a laugh as he stage-whispered behind his hand, "Shhh, that's how you end up in a dungeon."

"Funny," Lucius said, shrugging as he set down the goblet. "But . . . all right, you caught me, cousin. I do have business with you two."

The ease with which he conceded only made the two dark-haired men sitting across from him more suspicious.

Severus pushed his untouched wine aside and folded his arms across his chest. Sirius, in contrast, drained his goblet before fixing his late cousin's husband with a serious look.

"Has something happened?" His brow furrowing, Sirius asked, "Is it Draco, is he in some sort of trouble?"

Lucius laughed. As though Draco could possibly get into  _any_ sort of trouble that Lucius, himself, could not get the young man out of?

"No, of course not," the pale-haired man said with a shake of his head. "I had a question about an item I recently acquired at auction, is all."

"Oh? And how could we possibly help you?"

Lucius smirked at Severus' acid-toned question—honestly, if this was how the man treated his friends, he would hate to be Severus' enemy. But this was why he'd chosen a pub so close to Solitude. The further from the heart of Godric's Hollow they were, the less likely for them to hear about the spectacle he'd made of himself when he'd bought the girl yesterday afternoon.

"Because it's a pet. One of your beautiful Solitude girls."

They exchanged another glance, before both shook their heads and chuckled. "You know we can't tell you anything."

Lucius nodded at the familiar statement he'd heard from Sirius' lips a hundred times. "I simply thought if I knew who had trained this . . . Hermione girl, I could know better what to expect of her."

Sirius' face fell and Severus' expression hardened into one of anger. But a moment passed before either of them could speak.

"We've told you before—as Sirius said, a  _hundred_  times—we can't tell you anything. And we wouldn't, not to you, you—"

Sirius placed a hand on Severus' shoulder, knowing the touch would cut the other man's rant short. "What he means is . . . even  _if_  we knew who her Trainers were, we wouldn't be able to tell you. It's bad enough that you about this, at all."

Lucius spread his arms, palms up. "Well, I suppose you are right. I am sorry to have wasted your time." He set an already signed hundred Note on the table between them. "The afternoon's on me."

He excused himself from the table to go to the washroom. As he walked around them and away, he could feel their eyes on him. The moment he was certain they weren't paying him attention anymore, he rounded back, close enough to hear them, but not to be readily seen.

"The auction block, Sirius! She ended up on the bloody auction block!" Severus railed in seething whisper. "She was supposed to be safe with the prince!"

Nodding, Sirius once more placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I know. Perhaps we should have expected something like this when Voldemort overthrew the Potters. But it could be worse."

Severus' entire frame seemed to slump. "How?"

"Voldemort could have  _kept_  her." Sirius licked his lips nervously as he looked around, his gaze missing Lucius on account of the partition the pale-haired man had thought to gracefully duck behind. "At least we still know where she is, and she's safe. We haven't lost her."

A half-grin curved Lucius' mouth. Now he understood that note of sadness in the girl's voice. They—three of them—had gotten  _attached_  to one another.  _Oh, how_ very  _scandalous_ , he thought, holding in a delighted chuckle.

Schooling his features, he headed back to the table. As he carried on a random conversation, he toyed with the notion of how wonderful it would be to  _unexpectedly_  get Severus, Sirius, and  _his_  pet in the same room, together.


	7. Dinner and Drapery

**Chapter Seven**

Drapery & Dinner

Lucius stood for a long moment, beside Draco, simply staring at the girl. The Malfoy men mirrored one another in how they stood, their brows lifted nearly high enough to touch their pale hair and their arms folded across their chests.

She was clad in a cream colored slip-dress, the top and straps accented by gems and little, artfully coiled bits of gold link. At her throat and wrists, only the simplest of her former adornments remained—a simple string of tiny gems that varied in color, and solid gold bangles.

As she stood there, fidgeting, he noted that the stitching along the side of the dress was a little sloppy, but not a terribly haphazard job. It told him, however, that this was something she'd done _herself_ —his servants would never leave an imperfect seam.

Leaning slightly toward his son, Lucius asked, "Tell me again how this happened?"

"I informed her of the things which are hers. She took it to mean  _murder some drapery_."

Hermione chewed on her lip as she watched the interaction. She'd considered only briefly that she might be punished for this. In truth, she was so relieved at not having to roam about the Manor naked for the next few days that she hadn't thought her owners might view this as an act of disobedience.

"Master Lucius, Master Draco?" She couldn't keep quiet any longer, she had to know if she as in trouble for this. "Have I upset you?"

Draco's brows, which had just settled down properly, shot up again, while Lucius pursed his lips in thought.

"Not precisely," the elder Malfoy finally said, his head shaking as he decided for honestly. "I am debating whether or not to consider this as misbehavior."

She clasped her hands in front of her and took a step forward, noting how their gazes dropped briefly to follow the lines of her body beneath the semi-transparent dress. It probably lacked the appeal of her  _almost-completely_ -transparent black one, but she hoped the image she presented was at least enticing enough to dull the edge of whatever displeasure they might feel at her actions.

"But Master Lucius," she said, her voice soft as she forced her gaze to meet his, her bottom lip pulling into a pout. "I was under no instruction not to cloth myself."

Draco couldn't help a chuckle—at her inventiveness and quick-wittedness, as well as her kittenish look. He felt oddly certain that actually might be just the proper tack to get herself out of trouble.

Lucius' mouth opened, as though he was about to speak. He closed it, shook his head and started over. "You miss the point, Pet. While that room is yours to do with as you please, the items which it contains are still rather expensive. I shall have to replace what you destroyed.  _That_ is the misbehavior to which I refer."

Dropping her gaze, Hermione chewed her lip as she thought. Barely a heartbeat passed before she snapped her head up, meeting his eyes, again. "I will pay for the replacement."

"What?" both men asked, their voices mingling.

Nodding, she looked to her arms as she slipped one bangle from both of her wrists—leaving only two behind on each—and stepped up to Master Lucius. Catching his hand in her free one, she placed the bracelets on his palm.

"These _are_ solid gold," she explained as she returned her attention to him. "If you sell them, would that be enough to pay for new window dressing?"

Lucius forced a gulp down his throat, glancing from the girl to the metal circlets in his hand, and back. "Quite a bit more than  _enough_ , I should think."

Hermione smiled in spite of the fear still hovering around her heart, and stepped back. She had just made the very first monetary transaction of her life! That marked this as the third time just today that she'd been granted a freedom. Somehow, being owned by the Malfoys was proving more liberating than nearly anything she'd experienced before.

Snapping his fingers for one of the servants, he handed the bracelets off to the elf who appeared at his side—it occurred to Hermione that she only knew Dobby's name. She'd have to learn the others' names, as well.

"Dinner awaits," Lucius said, still puzzling over what had just happened. He supposed he could have punished her, anyway, but that would serve little purpose since she'd just paid recompense. No, he would save that for a truly impactful transgression.

Nodding, she turned toward the dining room, but waited for them to walk in ahead of her. They had yet to tell her the seating arrangement for formal meals.

Drifting into the room behind them, Hermione nearly stopped short as she noticed there were only two place settings. Yet, she arched a brow as she noted, there was a smaller, lonely-seeming plate—no accompanying utensils, no table napkin—just to the side of one of the place settings.

She watched as they each took a seat. Master Lucius' setting was the one with the side-plate. Swallowing hard, she could only nod when he sat in his chair and looked over at her, pointing toward his lap with his chin.

Hurrying over—after the near-trouble over the drapery, she didn't want to give him a chance to reconsider punishing her—she settled against him. But then, she stilled, her dainty hands on either side of the place setting. Her stomach rumbled at the sight, and close-up smell, of rare steak, asparagus and mashed potatoes with mushrooms.

Her mouth was watering, even after the surprisingly full breakfast and lunch Dobby had prepared her _. And_  an afternoon tea paired with the most delicious biscuits she'd ever tasted. Perhaps all these freedoms had provided too much excitement for her and drained her energy faster than she'd realized.

Her own plate—what she assumed had to be her plate—was empty. She desperately hoped she didn't have to earn her dinner.

"Potatoes first, Pet," Lucius said in her ear.

She was surprised at the need to repress a pleasant shudder. Yes, his lips and breath had brushed against her skin, but this was  _dinner_. Nodding, she turned just a bit in his lap and took the fork in hand. Scooping up some mushroom and potato, she lifted the food to his lips.

He accepted, his arms casually around her to rest loosely curled fists on the table as he engaged Draco in conversation. The younger Malfoy watched the display, hiding a smirk. He wondered if she realized that this was how  _all_ dinners would be, the only difference was that her seat would alternate.

She waited patiently for direction. Between words about Draco's visit with his maternal grandfather—a man named Cygnus Black, who sounded utterly loveless from the discussion—Lucius would indicate he was ready for the next forkful by giving a small nod toward the plate.

He saved the steak for last. Hermione thought perhaps he enjoyed the way she wiggled, ever so slightly, against him each time she cut a piece of meat to serve to him.

By the time Master Lucius' plate was cleaned, Draco was starting into his dessert. Hermione tried not to stare across the table, envying him the dish of vanilla custard.

Just as she feared her own meal forgotten by her masters, Lucius called over one of the servants. The creature took that lonely smaller plate and disappeared. Before she could ask what she'd done wrong, it  _poofed_ back into the room and set the now-filled plate atop his own and then vanished, once more.

The one glaring difference—aside from the diameter of her plate—was that the notably hearty servings of steak and asparagus were cut into bite-sized pieces. Furrowing her brow as she examined the meal, she tipped her head to one side. She'd not been given any utensils of her own. Was she expected to eat with her fingers?

But then Lucius reached around her, picking up one of the bits of steak in his fingers and bringing it to her lips. For a moment, she only looked at the offering.

Lucius moved his head to catch her gaze. The look of mild confusion in those wide, chestnut eyes was simply precious.

"Are you not hungry, Pet?" he asked, his tone feigning concern.

"I am, Master Lucius."

"Then . . . ." He gently touched the morsel of food to her lips in reminder. "By all means, eat."

Her stomach grumbled, but there was also a heated stirring stealing through her body. She also couldn't help the feeling that something so much more than a meal was happening for Master Lucius. Nodding, she let her eyes drift closed as she took the bit of steak from his fingers.

Lucius bit his bottom lip, holding in a sound of approval at the feel of her teeth and tongue brushing her fingertips.

"I think I'll excuse myself for the evening," Draco said with a grin and a wink. Setting his napkin and spoon in his half-empty dish, he stood from the table. "Good night, Father, Pet."

Hermione opened her eyes to watch her younger Master leave as she swallowed the remnants of what was likely the juiciest bit of steak she'd ever had. Suddenly, the found herself acutely aware of how she sat, practically snuggled against Master Lucius as he held up the next morsel for her to take.

She couldn't  _not_  notice the solidness of his form beneath hers, nor the way he held his hand. His forearm rested between her breasts—so that when he brought the food to her lips, the sleeve of his dinner jacket brushed one of her nipples through the smooth fabric of her  _new_  dress.

Hermione took the next bite, and the one after, and the one after, until the plate was empty. The entire meal, there was no noise, save for the sound of the breaths, her chewing, and the occasional rumble in the back of his throat. That last only happened when the juice from the steak would drip down his hand, and she traced the red droplets along his skin with the tip of her tongue.

Seeing she'd eaten the last bite before her, she met his gaze. There was a beautiful, hazy look in those grey eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.

As he snapped his fingers for the elf to remove the dinner plates and place a dish of vanilla custard before them, Lucius' attention drifted to her breasts. His gaze lingered on the hardened points of her nipples pressing against the creamy-white material.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers in kiss—his tongue darting between her lips to tease her own—as he hooked a finger beneath each dress strap and tugged them down.

When he broke the kiss, she dropped her gaze to see that he'd bared her breasts. Her breath came up short and her skin grew warm, but not so much as when she looked up to meet his eyes, again.

"Now," he said, giving her a slow once-over as he dipped his fingertip into the custard, "I believe we're more than ready for dessert, yes?"

Hermione felt every inch of her body tingle, felt that sweet little pulse between her thighs, as she nodded. "Yes, Master Lucius."


	8. A Lovely Dessert

**Chapter Eight**

A Lovely Dessert

She watched, her breath sticking in her throat as he lifted his finger from the dish. Hermione shivered a little at the feel of him touching the bit of custard to her breast. First one nipple, then the other, until each was coated by a layer of rich vanilla.

Lucius darted his gaze up to catch hers, holding her attention as he lowered his head. He flicked the tip of his tongue out, catching the smallest taste of the custard before he closed his lips around her nipple, suckling and scraping gently with his teeth until he'd cleaned her skin.

Shuddering against him, she curled her arms around his neck, her fingers lacing into his long, sleek hair. Before she even realized she'd moved, she found herself arching her back and shifting to one side—offering him her other breast when he lifted his head from the first.

He granted her a smirk. "How tempting you are, Pet."

"You are enjoying your dessert, aren't you?" she asked in a whisper, uncertain if the comment was approval of that small, but forward, movement, or a sarcastic reprimand.

That smirk widened into a grin and he brought his face close to hers, his gaze dancing across her lips as he said, "I think it is not so much the dessert, itself, I am enjoying, as the tray upon which it is being served."

Those grey eyes locked on hers, once more, he dipped his head, bringing his mouth to her other breast. As he lapped away the custard—his tongue moving in wide, circular strokes—he cupped his hand around her other breast. The hardened nipple still slick from his mouth, he teased the delicate skin with quick, rough pinches.

Hermione's head fell back and she squirmed in his lap. With each stroke of his tongue, each bit of sweet, mildly painful pressure from his fingertips, she felt that delicious, responding ache pulse between her thighs. And, as she squirmed, something even more wonderful happened—she felt how hard he was.

She must've made some sound, she realized—some moan, or gasp, she couldn't be certain, she was far too caught up in the sensation of his mouth working her skin—because he let her nipple slip from his lips and raised his head.

Opening his arms, he indicated the floor with a nod. "Stand a moment, Pet."

Jarred, she asked, even as she followed instruction, "Have I done something wrong, Master Lucius?" She wasn't certain she'd ever stop worrying that her boldness would upset him at some point.

"Not at all," he said as he stood, as well. He moved to stand before her, taking hold of the delicate, bejeweled dress straps. "I simply would not wish you to ruin this."

Hermione swallowed hard as he tugged the dress down over her hips and let it drop to the floor, where it pooled around her sandaled feet. He hadn't cared that Master Draco had destroyed her first dress, nor that she'd mangled her fine jewelry and his property—not really—yet he didn't want to ruin the dress she'd made for herself?

Perhaps some of his sympathies and concerns was not as feigned as he played at.

Taking her hand, Lucius guided her to step out of the bundle of fabric. He cupped his other hand between her thighs as he brought her to a stop before the table.

She was certain she did moan, then, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she moved against his exploring fingers.

He watched her expression as he rubbed slick, warm flesh. The way she bit her lip, the way her eyelids fluttered for a moment. The tremor that ran through her as she rocked her hips, working herself over his fingertips caused him to force a breath—quelling a sudden urge to bend her over the nearest piece of furniture, right then.

Lucius withdrew his hands and turned toward the table. Pulling out a random chair, he then grasped her hips and lifted her.

Before Hermione could react, she found herself seated upon the table. Master Lucius stepped close and she parted her thighs, her knees slipping around him as he pressed into her. His hardened cock pushed against her through his trousers and she whimpered pleadingly at the feel of it.

Again, he was watching her expression. This time, he touched a finger to her lips, his eyebrows shooting up as he tsk'ed. "Ah-ah," he said in a gravely murmur. "Not so soon, my sweet little pet."

He pushed her shoulders until she lay on her back. The feel of the silk tablecloth beneath her skin added a small, strange layer of decadence as she watched him pull up the chair he'd pushed aside only moments ago.

His gaze was focused between her parted legs, and she knew she blushed at the scrutiny. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to be embarrassed as he traced along her inner thighs, nor as he parted her and leaned so close that she could feel his breath against her.

Master Lucius' fingertips stroked and teased, but only for the briefest moment, only to test how wet she was.

"Well, then, Pet?" he asked, his gaze moving along her body to lock on her eyes. He must consider eye-contact a form of foreplay in and of itself, she realized. "What do you think? Shall I finish my dessert?"

She was certain that blush must cover every inch of her right now as she stared back at him. His face was so close that his lips had nearly brushed her when he'd spoken, and she trembled at the thought of his tongue darting out to stroke her. If what he'd done with her breasts was any indication . . . .

Nodding, she managed in a breathless whisper, "I think you're still very hungry, Master Lucius."

One brow arched as he nodded back, his long, silver-blond hair spilling forward over his shoulders to tickle her skin. He let out a pleased sigh as she lifted her own hands to her breasts, kneading them as she waited for whatever he might say, or do, next.

"I believe you are quite right, Pet," he said with a small grin.

Hermione braced herself, but still was not entirely prepared for the first, teasing stroke. She gasped and he made a rumbling sound of approval in the back of his throat.

Holding her gaze all the while, he flicked the tip of his tongue over her in swirling motions until she writhed beneath him. Only when she couldn't help but move, rocking her hips to bring that precious little bead of flesh closer to him, did he seal his lips against her.

He nipped and suckled, easing the pressure of his mouth whenever it seemed her body was beginning to tense. Slipping one hand lower, he entered her with his fingers, unable to help a chuckle when her whispered plea of  _Oh,_  gods _, yes_ , met his ears.

Again, Hermione felt herself begin to tense. The delicious scraping of the very edge of his teeth, the way he curled the tip of his tongue curled around as he drew on her was simply  _too_  much—and then he started sinking his fingers into her. She clenched around his delving hand, titling her pelvis toward his mouth.

And then he softened his motions again and she screamed behind closed lips. How much did he think she could stand?

Reaching to cup his head with her hands, she forced herself to speak, ignoring that her words escaped as a barely audible whisper. "Master Lucius, I  _beg_  you, please stop teasing."

She could swear she felt him smile against her. Just as she worried if he'd intended only to tease her all along, he nodded. Lucius buried his mouth more firmly against her, drew on her more sharply, his fingers thrusting into her harder and faster.

With a little, keening moan, she gripped her hands into fists in his hair. Somehow, all this time he'd been watching her, yet now, as he feasted on her, his eyelids drifted closed and he made the most wonderful purr-like, rumbling sound in the back of his throat.

Hermione didn't know what pushed her toward the edge faster, the working of his tongue, or how he made her think of a starved beast glutting itself on a delectable bit of meat.

She knew she was pulling on him, trying to force his mouth more tightly to her as she started to tense. Yet this time he allowed it, slipping his hands from her to wind his arms up over her hips and pull her as close to him as she could get.

Her head falling back, she cried out as the orgasm tore through her. He used his arms around her to rock her under his mouth as she came, the sound of his hungry groans dancing along her skin, somehow adding to the sweet, tingling heat washing over her.

It began to ebb, and fine little tremors wound through her muscles as she started moving against him, once more.

Lucius slowed his ministrations, bit by bit, nursing the little bundle of nerves beneath his tongue until she was spent. Lifting his head, he rubbed the tips of his fingers over her teasingly—enjoying the way it made her jump just a little.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he stood, using his free hand to unfasten his trousers.

She couldn't stop her gaze from drifting downward, from locking curiously on that hand as he eased his cock free of his clothes. She thought an appreciative grin might've curved her lips a moment—impressive endowment ran in the family—because he chuckled.

Guiding her legs to wrap around him, he placed one palm beside her on the table, and used his free hand to position himself. He dropped that hand to the other side of her, grasping her hip as he thrust into her.

She cried out again, reaching the grip her fingers into the sleeves of his jacket. Hermione tried to scoot closer to him, raising her hips to meet his deep, hard strokes.

Lucius tipped his head to one side, his gaze raking over her as he sank into her again, and again. There was something so perfectly enticing about the way she struggled to keep those enormous chestnut eyes open, to keep staring back at him, even as her lower lip trembled and she breathed out hiccupping, moaning sighs.

And the way his motions jarred her, causing her breasts to bounce and shiver  _certainly_ helped.

She clenched around his cock, and the sensation tore another of those wonderful, hungry groans from him. Giggling breathlessly, she pulled herself to sit up. Bracing her palms against the table, she scooted closer before stilling for him to sink into her harder.

Grinning at her forwardness, his slipped his hands beneath her, cupping her bottom with splayed fingers. He pulled her against him, and moved her backward, over and over, complimenting his thrusts.

Hermione leaned her face up, kissing and biting at the side of his throat as she felt her muscles tense around him. He gently nudged her mouth aside with his chin, dropping his lips to nibble on her earlobe.

She trembled, her body gripping tight around Lucius as he pushed her over the edge for the second time.

"What a perfect little pet you are," he whispered in her ear as he pulled her more sharply against him.

Nodding stiffly, she whimpered, murmuring as she came, "Th-thank you, Master Lucius."

The feel of her body clenching, warm, and wet and tight around his cock tugged and pulled at him. He'd wanted to hold out longer, but she was simply _too_ exquisite.

As her orgasm ebbed, he sank into her in one last, sharp, deliciously violent thrust. Lifting her arms to slip around his waist, she rocked her hips, moving herself around his cock as he spent himself.

She eased her motions as she felt fine little tremors shake through him, only stopping when he dropped his head down against her shoulder. There was something so wonderful in the sound of him catching his breath.

After a quiet moment, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Her lids swept down in a drowsy blink and he smiled as he watched.

"I think you need to be put to bed, Pet."

Hermione nodded, inhaling a bit quickly, still. "I believe you're right, Master Lucius."

Moving back from her just enough to slip his spent length back into his trousers and fasten them closed, he pointedly looked from her to the floor, and back. "Do you think your legs will carry you?"

She shook her head. "I'm not certain."

"Well, then," he said, scooping her into his arms and turning away from the table. "Come along, Pet."

As he carried her from the room, she glanced over his shoulder, back toward the pile of cream-colored fabric on the floor. "But my dress . . . ."

"I'll have one of the elves bring it up in the morning."

Shifting to catch his gaze as she linked her hands behind his neck, she asked, "Bring up to me? Really? Not conveniently accidentally destroy it?"

He feigned a look of disappointment, followed by a headshake as he tutted at her. "Nonsense, it is something you created. In fact," he said, rounding the bannister and starting up the stairs. "You do seem to have an eye for such things. Perhaps when the seamstress comes, we could have her teach you proper stitching."

Hermione felt her heart thump in her chest. "You would allow me that?"

Lucius shrugged, smirking. "Continue to be such a perfect pet, and I think you will find there are many accommodations we'd be willing to allow you."

She bit her lip, hiding a grin as she rested her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder. It occurred to her only then that when they'd discussed her possible punishments, they'd never actually discussed any rewards.

And if these continued little freedoms were her rewards, she wasn't certain that was anything she wouldn't do to prove herself a perfect pet to the Malfoys.


	9. The Little Moments

**Chapter Nine**

The Little Moments

Hermione stretched, reluctant to open her eyes, before snuggling further into the thick quilt.

A rich chuckle sounded from somewhere nearby, and she poked her head out of her plush cocoon. Master Lucius stood before his open wardrobe, his hair still damp from an early-morning bath, she assumed, as Dobby rushed about, fussing to dress their owner.

She spared a moment to wonder if Master Draco dressing himself yesterday morning was an anomaly, or if the younger Malfoy actually preferred to see to such things on his own.

"Good morning, Pet," he said with a smirk, his gaze flicking over to catch hers a moment.

"Good morning, Master Lucius." She sat up, holding the quilt against herself for Dobby's sake. Though, as she scanned the room briefly, she saw that, indeed, Master Lucius had kept his word, and her dress was carefully draped over a chair beside the wardrobe. "I am sorry to have slept so long. Is there anything you require of me?"

"Nonsense, Pet," he said with another rumbling laugh. "It's always good for a man's ego to see he left a young woman worn out."

Biting her lip, she blushed and cast her gaze to the floor.

"However, I require you to bathe and dress. Dobby will prepare you breakfast shortly, then we will be going."

Her attention snapped back to lock on him as her eyebrows shot up her forehead. "We, Master Lucius?" she asked, wondering if he meant her, or himself and Master Draco.

Lucius nodded as Dobby finished puttering around him and lifted both hands to straighten his shirt collar. "Yes, we. Of course, you will accompany Draco and I to pick the new window dressing for you room."

Her face pinched in thought, as though she didn't quite comprehend his words. "I'm going with you to the marketplace?"

Lucius understood easily that she meant she hadn't thought they would bring her along. With a start, he realized how stifled she must've been before, and that she'd not even been aware of it, herself. The jolt of sympathy was both unexpected and mildly unpleasant.

"Be a good girl, and perhaps we'll dine at a café for lunch when our business is concluded."

Those wide chestnut eyes brightened at the mention and suddenly the girl was out of bed. Snatching up her dress, she held it as cover around her naked form as she ran to the door.

"I—I'll go have that bath, now," she said with a smile and exited the room.

Dobby turned to Lucius, a thoughtful frown pulling his little face downward. "Dobby doesn't understand. Why is Miss so happy?"

"Because, Dobby, gilding the bars of a cage makes it no less a prison."

The creature's naked brow furrowed as he weighed his master's words, yet found himself unable to comprehend the cryptic statement.

* * *

After her bath, Hermione sat at the table in her room. Dobby had prepared another fantastic meal—she nibbled at toast with strawberry jam and sipped chocolate-sweetened breakfast tea as she waited for the scrumptious, piping hot serving of scrambled eggs, topped with shaved cheddar and sauteed mushrooms, to cool a bit.

While she ate, Dobby stood on a chair he'd pulled up behind hers to deal with her hair.  _Best to attack it while it was still wet from her bath_ , he'd said. He pulled and tugged and twisted and tucked until her golden-brown locks were arranged in a neat pile atop her head.

She felt him pressing gently against her scalp and turned to look toward the mirror above the vanity table. The elf was pushing hairpins—topped by little, decorative silk flowers of varying color, complementing her jeweled necklace—into her hair to hold the style in place.

"Dobby, they're lovely," she said turning in her seat to face him after he was finished. "Wherever did you get them?"

"Dobby made them for Miss, himself."

"Oh, Dobby, thank you!"

The little creature beamed, but not so much as when the girl leaned over to drop a kiss on his cheek.

* * *

Lucius stepped out first, followed by Draco as the driver held the door. Hermione eagerly accepted the hand Master Draco extended to help her from the carriage.

He pulled her between himself and his father, but she barely noticed—even as she slipped a hand around each of their crooked arms and started walking—as she was far too caught up in the vibrancy of the marketplace.

Everywhere people on the walkways laughed, and talked. Shoppers strolled about, their arms laden with goods, or carrying a completely mad-seeming number of bags in their hands.

She could hear wind chimes, and music boxes, children giggling. The scents in the air teased warm, fresh baked goods, sugary sweets and beckoning arrays of incense. Hermione could readily pick out the ones for offering prayer to the gods, and one intended to inspire love. That second one was rather reminiscent of the aphrodisiac incense so often brought in to the baths during training sensations. A pleasant memory, indeed, but one she pushed away, as this was hardly the time or place to entertain such a recollection.

Before she realized, she was already walking into a large, impressive-looking building, the doors lined by marble pillars of deep grey, veined with silver and gold. She waited on a plushly cushioned bench beside Master Draco as Master Lucius was escorted—it seemed to Hermione there was a lot of unnecessary fuss and bustle when the people behind the high, partitioned counter saw the Malfoys enter the establishment—to a private booth.

"Master Draco?" she asked in a whisper.

He looked to her, grey gaze flicking over her features, registering that she seemed a little troubled. "Something wrong, Pet?"

Clearing her throat, she leaned a bit closer—despite that she already sat with her shoulder pressed to his arm—to speak in his ear. "What is this place?"

His eyebrows drew upward. "You've never been to a bank before?"

She shook her head. "No. This is my first trip to a marketplace."

Draco frowned as he thought. That made sense, after all, when she was the pet of the prince, there was no need for her to do anything of the sort. Of course, her life wasn't typical, even for one of her station—many pets accompanied their masters on shopping trips, some even assisted their masters by tending customers at their shops.

"What were your days like at the palace?" he asked, recalling how shocked she was yesterday at the concept of having time to herself.

Her eyes roved the ceiling as she recounted her basic daily schedule. "Well, all meals were formal, so bath, I had an elf who dressed me—her name was Winky, adorable, uppity little thing—breakfast, poetry reading, music lessons, dance instruction, lunch. Um, walking the garden and courtyard with Queen Lily, she loved to oversee all that, herself, she would teach me the flower names and what they meant. Then tea was followed by—"

"My gods," he said, his eyebrows so high they were hidden beneath the pale fringe of hair falling over his forehead. "Why so tightly ordered?"

She shrugged, shaking her head as she turned to watch Master Lucius make his way toward them. "Much is expected of the prince's courtesan. I suppose that's why the Mothers chose me for him. I enjoy learning and studying."

Just as his father reached the bench, Draco asked, "Does that mean you know how to read?"

Hermione nodded. She knew not all the girls in Solitude had bothered with such things, but it couldn't be that odd a trait, could it?

"You do have quite the pleasing speaking voice," Master Lucius observed aloud as he stuck out his elbow for her. "Perhaps this evening, before dinner, you might read some poetry for us."

Draco got to his feet on her other side as she stood and slipped her free hand around Master Lucius' arm, again.

A smile curved her lips. "I will pick something worth listening to, then."

As they walked to the doors, Lucius said, "You will be pleased to know your bracelets did fetch quite a Note. Let's go see about window dressings."

* * *

Hermione wandered about the shop, from drapery display, to drapery display. Silks and cotton and velvet, of varied thickness, and in any color she could imagine hung against the walls and graced funny, false windows standing at random intervals on the floor.

She could feel her masters' gazes upon her as she drifted about, trailing her fingertips along crimson velvet here, across green cotton there. When she turned to look at them, Master Lucius wore a small, amused grin, and Master Draco watched her with what was almost—though it felt like hubris to think it—a look of adoration. His grey eyes held a dreamy quality, and spots of pale pink dotted his fair cheeks.

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as she returned her attention to her selection. To think, she'd been so frightened of what her new life as the Malfoys' pet might hold only two days ago . . . .

"This one," she said finally, uncertain if it was to distract herself from pondering any further on how her new masters made her feel, or if she truly adored the silk periwinkle and lavender arrangement before her as much as she told herself she did.

Twice now she'd been ripped from a life in which she was content, from those to whom she thought she could give her heart. It was far too soon to be content—to believe she could have a lasting happiness here.

She would make do with the little moments of bliss, as she always did.

Nodding, Lucius gestured to the shop owner. The tiny man—no taller than a house elf—waddled over to them, beaming at her choice.

She never heard how much it actually cost, as the proprietor stood as high as he could, speaking to Master Lucius in hushed tones. The elder Malfoy nodded, extracting his book from the inside pocket of his jacket. As he opened it, she noticed a bunch of loose Note sitting atop the stitched bundle. She reasoned that must be from exchanging her bracelets.

He handed a few to the shop owner, as he rattled off delivery instructions.

After the little man walked away, Lucius counted the left over Note. Nodding to himself, he put the book away. He waited for Hermione to take her place between himself and Draco before he started for the door.

"Back to the bank," he said with a sigh.

Hermione frowned. How many times did people go to the bank while shopping?

"I didn't realize there was so much left over," Draco said, his tone thoughtful as he curled a hand over Hermione's on his arm.

"Well, the quality of the gold was rather high, so I suppose this was to be expected."

She tried to make sense of how they sounded. Bored? Agitated? Hungry? It was difficult to pin down, and she was usually quite good at reading expressions.

"I'm sorry, Master Draco, Master Lucius," she said finally, her voice soft. She couldn't take the uncertainty any longer, a gnawing feeling—like when she feared having done something wrong—twisting in the pit of her stomach. "Is that bad?"

"Hmm?" Lucius' brows furrowed as he turned his head, meeting her gaze as they walked. "No, Pet. It's only that those in our standing often forget the cost of things. I simply wish I'd known, so I could make the arrangements when we'd been there, earlier."

"Arrangements?" She echoed the word, her face pinched in question.

He nodded, his long hair rustling beautifully around his shoulders. "We are using what Note is left over to open an account for you. You will be able to purchase whatever you wish with those funds."

Hermione froze mid-stride and they both stopped, turning their heads to look at her. Biting into her lip, her brows drew together as she tried to stop her eyes from welling up.

"Oh, dear gods. Not again," Draco said in a whisper as he shook his head.

"What—what is that?" Lucius swallowed hard, his gaze flicking about her features. "Is she crying?"

Draco nodded, his expression pained. "Same thing happened yesterday when I said her jewelry was  _hers_."

Lucius' eyes rolled so hard that his lids fluttered as he let out a sigh.

"No," she said, shaking her head and forcing a smile. "I'm fine, Master Lucius. I just . . . that was unexpected, is all."

He nodded, pulling them into step alongside him, once more.

Despite being told,  _and_  her barely-avoided outburst, Hermione didn't really believe what was happening until the book was placed in her hand. Opening it, she flipped through the neatly ordered Note, and then ran her finger along the seam.

Her brows rose as she read aloud the name stamped to the inside cover of the leather book. "Hermione Malfoy."

"You have no family name," Draco explained. "So, as our pet, you  _are_ legally considered a Malfoy."

"No, explanation necessary, Master Draco," she said as she closed the book and placed it in his waiting hand—her dress hardly had pockets, after all. "I like the sound of it."

A smile touched his lips before he turned away to start them walking toward the doors.

* * *

Hermione seemed distracted as they lunched in the open air section of one of the cafés. When Draco followed her gaze, he found that she was watching a street urchin.

"Have you never seen a homeless person, before?" The question seemed perfectly reasonable—there were so many things she had _never_ glimpsed, before.

She shook her head. "I wasn't aware there were people without homes," she said quietly.

Chewing her lip, she listened to her masters give reasons why such a thing could happen. Lost business, runaway, disownment, plain bad luck.

Her unfamiliarity with the concept wasn't why she was staring, though. The young man, despite the dirt and rags, was somewhat familiar. Not that she knew him—hence her scrutiny. As she watched him, hunkering down to tear into a loaf of bread, she realized.

He reminded her of the prince. They had the same unruly dark hair and green eyes she could see even from this distance. He carried himself differently than Harry Potter, of course, but the physical resemblance was strong.

Sighing, she put it out of her head.

Until they were returning to the carriage. Hermione carried bags filled with items she'd purchased, herself—decorative baubles for her room, hairpins, perfume, lilac-scented soaps. She'd even ordered beautiful fabrics to have ready at the Manor for when the seamstress arrived tomorrow.

As the driver came to take the bags from her, she noticed the young man from the corner of her eye. Biting her lip, she looked down, but her gaze tripped over the glinting of gold upon her wrists.

If two of her bangles had fetched this much Note . . . . Sliding one bracelet free, she hurried over to the dark-haired young man before her masters noticed she'd moved.

"Here," she said, kneeling before him and pressing the gold circle into one of his hands.

A look of confusion flitted across his soot-smudged features. "What's this for, then?"

She smiled, uncertain why he seemed suspicious. Did people often bribe urchins to do things for them?

"It's for whatever you want," she said simply, before rising to her feet and returning to the carriage.

Draco and Lucius seemed displeased by her decision, and she suddenly feared she'd angered them.

"I'm sorry." She forced a gulp down her throat, her eyes wide. "Have I done something wrong? My jewelry is mine to do with as I please, isn't it?"

Lucius held his tongue until they were in the carriage, the door shut securely. "My concern, Pet, is that such actions can be dangerous. You cannot always trust those in that man's position."

Finally, the tension in her muscles eased. She hadn't realized how anxious waiting for an answer had made her until then. "So you are not angry with me."

He let a breath hiss out from between barely parted lips as he shook his head. "Not precisely, but we will need to discuss rules of conduct before your next shopping excursion."

Her shoulders sagged a little, disappointed that she'd made them unhappy, but relieved that she hadn't truly upset them.

"What I don't understand is why you did that," Draco said, staring out the window. "Yesterday you were so happy that jewelry was yours, and now you give it away so easily?"

"I gave it away because I have something to give."

His brow furrowed as he graced her with a curious look. "I don't understand."

She looked to his hand covering one of hers and couldn't help stroking the pad of her thumb over his knuckles as she answered. "Until yesterday, I'd never owned anything before, not even the clothes I wore. That man is free, in a way I've never been, he at least owns that which he has on him. Yet . . . he's in such an unfortunate situation. How can I not give to one who has even less than myself?"

Father and son exchanged a long glance, and she couldn't make sense of what that interaction meant.

Frowning, she turned her head to meet Master Draco's gaze, to ask what the issue was, now. He cut her off by slipping his free hand around the back of her neck and pulling her close for a kiss.

His tongue darted between her lips, caressing hers before he released her and sat back again.

A little dazed, she asked, "What was that for?"

He smirked. "You're a treasure, you know that?"

Hermione bit her lip as a happy grin curved her lips. She turned her attention from Master Draco to Master Lucius, who watched her, his face thoughtful. Though it didn't temper her happy expression, she couldn't help wondering what that look meant.


	10. Pleasant Little Games

**Chapter Ten**

Pleasant Little Games

Over the course of the following week, Hermione settled into her role—and schedule—at Malfoy Manor with relative ease. Her wardrobe was full of gorgeous, newly tailored dresses, though she still kept the one she'd made right in there, with them.

She had deigned to let the seamstress show her how to stitch a proper seam, but refused to fix her bejeweled, semi-opaque cream slip. No, that messy line would stay, because it was a reminder of the very first thing she'd done for herself.

Left to her own devices, she defaulted, divvying up her days much as she'd been made to do in the palace. After her morning bath and breakfast—during which Dobby always saw to taming her wild hair into artistic up-dos—she would spend hours in the Manor's impressive library, reading this novel, or that collection of sonnets. After lunch, she strolled the garden, conversing with Tully—an elf surprisingly well-versed in horticulture—about the flowers he tended and the hope that the coming rains of next season would be kind.

At tea, sometimes Master Draco would unexpectedly join her. She found this a most delightful surprise, in rather than having to choose some terribly relevant topic of discussion, they seemed to chat about absolute nonsense. Silly stories from their childhoods—his, about moments like spilling crimson wine on Master Lucius' crisp, white shirt during a dinner party. Hers, memories like the day Luna realized she was allergic to amber-daisies . . . by  _eating_  one, of course.

"Because how  _else_  would one learn such a thing?" Master Draco had asked while chuckling.

Twice, she'd found Dobby sitting on the main staircase, looking abashed. Hermione already knew that upon continuing up to the second floor, she'd encounter Master Draco strolling from the bath to his bedroom, completely naked, dripping wet, and moving at a snail's pace. She might've been shocked the first time, had Master Lucius not warned her he was prone to such antics.

Still, for the sake of her own, furious blush, she ran to snatch the towels from the bath and returned to clasp a hand around his wrist and hurry him into his room. Of course, he would then insist she dry him, and dress him.

The  _dressing him_  bit had become an afterthought both times. And a rather far-flung one, at that.

The poetry reading Master Lucius had suggested during their visit to the bank had become a nightly event. The selection rotated, so Hermione only had to choose every third night. She secretly thought it amusing how different their selections were. Hers spoke of imagery and places she could never hope to see. Master Draco's were full of dark humor and spicy, not so-subtle innuendo. Master Lucius' . . . . She had the feeling Master Lucius chose his specifically to see her blush and hear her voice become breathy and hitched. They were sensual and full of seductive nuances.

Each night she fell asleep, completely worn out, feeling warm and protected in the arms of one of her masters.

Still, she refused to let herself feel truly content, but they were certainly making that a difficult task.

* * *

Draco said something as her fingers swept across his skin. Or, rather,  _tried_ to say something, as his face was muffled against the pillow.

Hermione giggled at the mumbled, incoherent sentence. It was after dinner and they'd retired to his room—it  _was_  Master Draco's night, after all—and now she sat, straddling his lower back as she massaged his bare shoulders. At his request, she wore nothing but a lacy, crimson undergarment. Honestly, she found knickers ridiculous, but he seemed to quite fancy them on her.

She leaned up, crossing her arms beneath her breasts as she arched a brow and smiled. "I am sorry, Master Draco, but you're really going to have to repeat that."

He chuckled, shifting his head a bit so the overly-fluffy pillow no longer obscured his voice. "I said Father wishes you to accompany me when I visit my grandfather next week."

Swallowing hard, she shook her head as she returned to kneading his shoulders with the tips of her fingers. "Um, this would be Lord Cygnus Black, yes? The man who spoke at my first dinner with you?"

Draco turned his head to look at her, the longish ends of his pale hair brushing her working fingers. "Good memory. You were still adjusting, then. I wasn't certain you were paying attention. Yes."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat uncomfortably as she held his gaze. "Please take no offense to my next words, Master Draco, but . . . . Dear  _gods_ , why?"

He—much to her surprise—burst out laughing. Turning fluidly beneath her, he leaned up a bit, balancing his weight on his elbows. "I knew I liked you."

She blinked a few times in rapid succession as she processed his reaction. That, and ignored that his change in position now had her straddling his lap, or they'd never finish this conversation.

"So . . ." she said after a moment of watching his calm expression. "You aren't angry with me for wishing I did not have to accompany you?"

A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth upward. "Not even remotely." He shrugged. "I wouldn't be going, either, if I had any real choice in the matter."

"All right." She spoke slowly, dropping her hands to trace her fingertips along the lines of his chest and abdomen. She adored the way his beautiful grey eyes drifted closed as she stroked his skin. " _Why_  am I accompanying you?"

Once more, he shrugged. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he opened his eyes and dragged his gaze down her body. From her face, down over her bare breasts, along her stomach, and down to the lacy red knickers that teasingly concealed that most delectable part of her.

"All I know," he said, pausing to lick his lips as he slid the fingers of one hand into the side of her knickers and pulled them out of the way. "Is that he said he has some meeting, and he would like the house empty."

"Not the meeting with the land owners?" she asked, dropping her gaze to watch his hand as he parted her to rub gently.

He shook his head, returning his attention to her face to watch her expression. "No. I know he wants you here for that, in case he needs you."

"Not as though I have a choice in the matter," she said, lifting herself a little as she unfastened his trousers and slid her hand inside.

Draco groaned softly behind closed lips as she stroked his cock. Gods, he was already hard, and she  _had_  to know how wet she was, with his fingers rubbing against her like this—was she trying to make him explode? "No, it's not as though you do."

"Master Draco?" she asked as she pulled him free of his clothes.

He had already come to recognize that cooing tone in her voice. Once more, his gaze flicked downward, coming to rest on her hand wrapped around him. "Do you want me to fuck you, Pet?"

"Yes." She knew there was more to say, but she liked this little play between them, especially with the way he timed the rubbing of his fingers to the stroking of hers.

He leaned up a little more, bracing his weight on the palm of his free hand, now. "Then you know what you have to say."

She drifted closer, so that her lips brushed over his as she whispered, " _Please_ , Master Draco?"

Grinning wickedly, he pulled himself to sit up straight and grasped her hips. Hermione held the knickers out of the way with one hand as she guided just the head of his cock inside her with the other.

The moment she moved her hands out of the way, he pulled her tightly to him as he thrust into her.

She cried out, reflexively wrapping her limbs around him. Leaning her face up, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling and suckling at the delicate skin as she ground her pelvis against him, meeting his strokes.

He stilled for just a moment, interested to see how she would take to doing all the work.

Hermione pulled back, watching his expression. He was . . . waiting. Biting her lip as she held his gaze, she slipped her arms from around him. Pressing her hands to his shoulders, she guided him to lay on his back.

Bracing her palms on either side of his head, she rocked her hips, moving so that his cock thrust into her and withdrew again, and again with no effort on his part.

He drew in a hissing breath between clenched teeth as he watched her. As he felt her clench and shiver around him with every motion.

"Dear gods, where did we ever find you?" Draco whispered, chuckling as he tilted his head. He caught one of her nipples between his lips.

She moaned, slipping one hand into his hair to cradle the back of his head. He was moving beneath her, but just a bit—just enough that when she rocked forward, he was buried inside her, as deep as he could get. Just enough that he rubbed against her at precisely the correct angle, sending sweet, tingling sparks through her.

Her muscles started to tense of their own accord. She made a foolish attempt to stop them—to make herself hold out, longer—but her body refused to listen to her. She leaned back, arching, stilling as she trembled. She fought to keep her hips rocking over him, but he rescued her, just then.

Slipping his hands over her sides once more, he pulled her into motion over him and rocked her back. As he moved her, he lifted his hips from the bed to drive up, into her.

Her head fell back and again—as she always did—she moaned, and pleaded, whispering the most enticing things as she came. "Master Draco, ple—please, don't stop," she said this time.

She always knew  _exactly_  when to speak such words, he thought, unable to hold on with how her body gripped his cock, so warm and tight. His thrusts became rough and jerking just as her orgasm began to ebb, and she responded instantly, rocking against his motions.

The sweet little aftershocks tore through her, helped along by the way she ground herself against him.

She loved the way he pulled at her, an almost helpless gesture as he forced his hips up against her in one last, hard thrust. Smiling, she moved over and around him until he was spent, entirely.

Hermione pulled back, letting him slip free, and then settled against him. As they caught their breath, she rested her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder, and he circled her with his arms.

"You really are  _so_  bloody perfect," he whispered, dropping a kiss against her forehead.

She laughed, listening to the rapid beating of his heart so close to her ear. "You both keep telling me that. I may start to believe you."

Draco grinned, his eyes drifting closed. "Perhaps you should."

* * *

"Dear gods, it is _far_  too early."

Sirius laughed as he glanced over his shoulder to see Severus pull a pillow over his face. "Is not. You just turned in  _far_  too late. Again." He shook his head as he turned back to the missive that awaited their attention upon the window sill. "I keep telling you staying up all night reading like that will be the death of you."

"Either that, or your nagging will," Severus droned, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.

The room grew quiet, and Severus thought,  _perhaps_ , he might drift back to sleep. But then, he felt the weight of Sirius sitting down hard on the bed.

"Oh, shit," the other man whispered.

Sighing heavily, Severus decided there was simply no further rest to be had, today. He sat up, letting the pillow fall into his lap. "All right. I'm awake. What?"

Sirius' shoulders drooped as he tossed the open missive to land atop the pillow. "See for yourself."

Rubbing his eyes, Severus refused to make sense of writing just now. "Bloody hell, with your insufferable dramatics. Just  _tell_ me."

Heaving a sigh of his own, Sirius turned slightly on the bed to meet the other man's dark-eyed gaze. "You're such a wretch when you first wake. Anyway . . . . It seems Lucius has invited us to the Manor for drinks next week."

Suddenly, Severus was wide awake. Color rushed to his pale cheeks, but just as quickly, it faded and his jaw dropped a little. Schooling his features as he shook his head, he simply said, "We can't go."

"We can't  _not_  go, either," Sirius said, "Lucius would get suspicious. Besides, he says he's sending his pet away that day so we won't have to worry that she might recognize us."

"Fine, we'll go." Severus shifted to lay down again and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up over his head. "But one drink and then we leave."

"Absolutely," Sirius agreed in a whisper, staring at the missive with Lucius' perfect, looping penmanship.

They would go, but they had to be quick. Staying too long would mean risking seeing her. Neither would say it aloud, but they were both painfully aware that they  _didn't_  want to see her, because they wanted to see her  _too_  much.

And if they did, they weren't certain only seeing would be enough.


	11. Two-By-Two

**Chapter Eleven**

Two-By-Two

Two days later, Hermione found herself with another free day. After Master Lucius had once more detailed the rules governing her excursions outside the Manor the night before—going so far as to make her repeat every word as he thrust into her—he'd agreed to let her have a shopping day.

She hummed to herself, her fingers wrapped around the cloth handles of shopping bags that she swung this way and that as she walked through the marketplace. Dobby followed closely at her heels. Every now and then he told her he could take the bags for her. Each time he did so, she jokingly informed him he had quite enough to manage, what with being ordered to accompany her so that he might remind her not to do  _anything_  that might set her in harm's way.

Master Draco was spending the day with his aunt, or at least that was what Hermione thought he'd said. He'd snuck into washroom as she bathed and leaned over the side of the tub to kiss and nip at her throat and his hands had slipped beneath the water to cup her breasts while he spoke—she was barely awake, and there he was causing sweet little jolts between her thighs each time his mouth wandered to brush against her ear or his fingers teasingly pinched her nipples. How in the names of the gods was she supposed to pay full mind to a thing he said under those circumstances?

Master Lucius had some business to attend to with the Usurper. Hermione wasn't terribly surprised when she was informed of this. Anyone who'd kept their land and titles after Voldemort had claimed the throne was wise to heed him, or risk losing everything at his whim.

The elder Malfoy had woken only a few moments before she had, and she stayed still, pretending to sleep so that she could watch through half-closed eyes as he strolled across the room naked to fetch his dressing gown. Though, from the smirk he gave her when she finally sat up and stretched, she was rather certain he knew she hadn't been sleeping, just then.

As she walked through the gated garden area in the heart of the marketplace, wafting scents from a bakery around the bend tickled her senses. She realized—even without the grumbling from her belly—that they hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it was now well past noon.

Laughing, she paused mid-stride and placed hand over her complaining stomach. The silk of her lavender gown felt soothing beneath her fingertips.

"Dobby, are you hungry? We really should get something to eat."

She turned to face the elf. He stood, staring up at her, his already very large eyes wide as saucers.

Her brow furrowed as she smiled uncertainly. "What is it?"

He shifted in place, shuffling his feet against the cobblestone path beneath them before he worked up anything to say. "Miss wants Dobby to share a meal with her?"

She laughed and lowered herself until they were eye-level. "Of course, Dobby. Is that so strange?"

Glancing around, the elf stepped closer, his already small voice dropping to a whisper. "Dobby has never been invited to eat with someone, before."

Hermione bit her lip as she tried to gauge his emotion. He was difficult to read at the moment, as she picked up that he was both happy  _and_  sad, at the same time.

"Oh, Dobby, don't look like that," she said, setting down one handful of bags to cup his cheek. "Friends take meals together sometimes, don't they?"

The little creature's eyes lit up in wonder. "Miss and Dobby are . . . friends?"

His surprise broke her heart a little and she forced a nod, keeping her smile in place. "Of course we are."

Picking up the bags she'd set aside, she held the handles out to him. Only after he'd taken them in one hand, did she stand, reaching to gently take his other in hers.

"C'mon, Dobby. Lunch awaits."

Dobby blinked and sniffled as he followed along, half-a-step behind her. Miss thought they were equals? Miss  _was_ kind and gentle, but there was no way she could understand that they could not be equals, because he was not capable of breathing life and light into their masters' home, as she had.

* * *

"So," Bellatrix began, clasping her hands before her as Winky poured some tea into the cup set before the pale-haired young man. "How is my favorite nephew? It has been  _far_  too long since we've seen one another."

"Quite well, Aunt Bella." Draco smiled as he added sugar to his tea and she arched one perfect, jet brow at the pleasant expression.

Draco smirked, Draco half-grinned, Draco sneered and scowled, frowned and occasionally pouted. The young man could muster many expressions, but she did not recall the last time a smile—a true smile—had been among them.

Biting her lip to hold in a grin, she settled back in her seat across the table from him as she lifted the cup before her. "Well, now," she said with a smile of her own as she waved the fingers of her free hand to indicate his face. "What's all  _this_  about, then?"

He cleared his throat as he made an attempt to school his features. He'd not even realized he'd been smiling. "Nothing, really. I just . . . ." He shrugged, there was no point in lying to Aunt Bella—she always knew, anyway. Bloody sorceresses. "Father recently acquired a pet for the Manor and she is . . . ." His gaze roved as he nodded. "She's perfect, actually."

She laughed in surprise. " _Your_  father took a trip to Solitude?"

"Oh, no, no," Draco said, waving his free hand in a dismissive gesture as set down his tea cup with the other. "He bought her at an auction. Come to think of it, you must've met her. She was with the items sent to—"

"Hermione?" Bella's voice was high and brittle as she said the name.

Draco nodded.

His aunt glanced over each shoulder—a peculiar gesture, Draco thought, as they were alone in one of her new, private rooms in the palace—before she leaned forward to ask in a hissing whisper. "Tell me your father did not bring her with him for his visit with the King!"

The sudden, obvious tension in her posture, as well as the malicious narrowing of her eyes, had Draco unexpectedly forcing a gulp down his throat. He tilted his head to one side, curious. "Of course not. Why would you think he had?"

"I . . . . I don't." Bellatrix shook her head as she sat back, licking her lips anxiously. "I just . . . .  _I_  sent that girl away. I simply don't want her setting a toe back in this place without my knowledge."

Grey eyes swept over her in an appraising manner. The familiar frown tugged the corners of Draco's mouth downward as he said, "You sent her away, because . . . you don't like her?"

"Hmm." Bellatrix pouted thoughtfully, her chin jutting forward and her gaze roving the ceiling. "It isn't that. I barely even know the girl."

"Then why did you just say her name as though she stole your favorite set of dancing slippers?"

She propped an elbow on the table, waving her hand about and shrugging as she opened her mouth to speak. But just as quickly, she snapped her lips shut, her brows pinching together as she simply held her nephew's gaze.

Her reluctance to answer was quite interesting to Draco—Bellatrix Black was not one to hold her tongue.  _Ever_. "Were you jealous of her place in the palace?"

Bellatrix barked out a throaty laugh. "Gods, no, my boy. Nothing like that." She shrugged and spared a moment to take a sip from her tea cup. "By rights, she was _technically_  my pet, as well. If I'd felt threatened by her in that manner, I would have simply taken her into my bed and  _taught_  her which one of us was in charge."

Refusing to allow himself the moment to picture his pet in bed with  _any_  woman, Draco shook his head, latching onto another part of Bellatrix's statement. "So you did feel threatened by her in  _some_ fashion?"

The woman rolled her eyes and slumped a little. "Yes, fine, all right?" She always knew mixing the Malfoy and Black bloodlines was a terrible idea. She loved her nephew dearly, but sometimes he was simply too sharp for other people's comfort.

Her irritated demeanor told Draco one very important thing—whatever had happened with Bellatrix and Hermione was something  _worth_  knowing.

Pushing aside the saucer upon which his tea cup was set, he folded his hands on the table before him and squared his shoulders. "You know you're going to end up telling me whatever it is you're hiding, anyway."

She folded her lips inward, forming a thin line.

Draco arched a brow. "You  _always_  end up telling me, Aunt Bella. So, out with it."

Bellatrix sighed and hung her head. He was right, of course. She blamed that on how much some of his mannerisms reminded her of her dear, departed sister. Sometimes it felt like she was confiding in Sissy when she shared secrets with Draco.

But at moments like this, when he was so stubborn and blindly sure of himself . . . . " _Gods_ , you can be so much like your father, sometimes," she hissed. "Fine, I'll tell you. However, you must promise me you won't share what I'm about to tell you with  _anyone_."

He grinned.

* * *

"From the window dressing?" Voldemort asked, his eyebrows shooting up so high they touched the dark curls tumbling over his forehead.

Lucius nodded and the Dark Lord burst out laughing.

"Oh, I wish I'd  _never_  given her away, she sounds rather entertaining to have about."

With a thoughtful pout, Lucius looked over the chessboard, calculating his next move as he spoke. "I have been meaning to ask. Why  _did_  you send her away?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Oh, was not I who made that decision. Was your lovely sister-in-law. I went along with it to placate her."

Lucius' grey eyes narrowed as he thought that over. Bellatrix had her batty moments, certainly, but had she realized exactly what she'd given away? "She realized the girl was hers, as well, yes?"

"I don't actually know," Voldemort said with a pensive frown before breaking into another chuckle. "Though . . . now that I think on it, that would have made for  _quite_  the pleasant set of circumstances."

"Speaking of circumstances . . . ." Lucius made his move and then sat back, figuring it best that he not dwell on the thought of Hermione and Bellatrix sharing a bed. He propped his elbow upon the table to tuck his fist beneath his chin. "The girl has requested that I, at least, inquire about the welfare of the Potters. If you'd be so gracious as to allow said inquiry, of course."

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand as he looked over the board. "They're perfectly fine. Once a week I have them dragged out of the dungeons for tea."

Lucius bit his lip, uncertain whether or not laughing was appropriate.

Glancing up, Voldemort smiled as he caught the look on his old friend's face. "Oh, I'm quite serious." He wiggled his finger in the general direction of the main hall. "How else am I to enjoy them knowing I own all this, if I can't see the looks on their faces as I sit upon the throne, while they're lucky to have their bums seated on a floor that's not made of dirt?"

Giving a half-shrug, Lucius nodded.

"So, tell me . . . ." Voldemort waited until Lucius met his gaze before continuing. "What  _is_  she like?"

Lucius let his gaze wander the room. Finally, he decided for honesty. After all, if it had been Bellatrix's decision, it was hardly as though Voldemort was going to try to take back the girl.

"In a word?" He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. "Perfect."

"Oh?" Now  _this_  Voldemort did find interesting. He leaned across the table just a bit as he watched his friend's expression. "Do tell?"

"She's been mine nearly two weeks, and yet, she's not given me a  _single_  opportunity to punish her."

"Had something enjoyable planned for that, did you?" Voldemort asked, a wicked grin curving his lips.

Lucius chuckled. "Oh,  _yes_."

"I would like to see her."

His elbow nearly slipping off the edge of the table at the abruptness of the Dark Lord's announcement, Lucius blinked rapidly a few times. A surprise dalliance with her former trainers he'd been willing to go so far as to orchestrate, but allowing this? Although, he realized with an unhappy grumble to his thoughts, he could hardly refuse, either.

He didn't mind those who lacked the power or privilege to take her from him. Voldemort had both.

At his lack of response, Voldemort arched a brow. "Issue, my old friend?"

Schooling his features, Lucius shook his head, quickly collecting his senses. "None, My Lord. I was only wondering how we would explain that to your lovely sorceress."

"Worry not," Voldemort said, again offering that dismissive wave as he returned his attention to figures upon the board. "I'll come to the Manor."

"If I may, My Lord," Lucius murmured, his tone low and thoughtful. "What is it about her that seems to have you so fascinated?"

"I couldn't say." Voldemort's blue eyes clouded over for a moment. He looked down at his palms, recalling that moment he'd cupped her breasts as she writhed in his lap. Such a pleasant little sliver of memory. "I barely got a few minutes with her. I probably just want to experience, for myself, if she's  _really_ worth the fuss."

The pale-haired man offered a tight-lipped grin. "If you can slip away from the palac _e without_  Bellatrix's notice, then I'm certain a . . . reunion could be arranged."

Apparently feeling the matter settled, Voldemort selected his move and drifted on to a different topic of conversation, entirely. Some nonsense about his guards finding an effigy to the heretic gods on routine patrols through the Dark Forest.

Lucius forced himself to find interest in that. If the identity of the effigy's owner was ever learned, that would make quite the juicy scandal, and he did adore a good scandal.

Yet, in the back of his mind, he hoped Voldemort never managed to get out from beneath Bellatrix's watchful eye. Or, that if he did, Voldemort's opinion of his pet's . . . talents would differ  _vastly_  from his and Draco's.

For a brief moment, an observation teased at the back of his head. Was it possible Voldemort—and he knew quite well it was, he simply didn't want to believe the Dark Lord had put so much thought into that matter—had only ensured the Malfoys came into possession of the girl so  _he_ might still be able to have her?


	12. Remembering Solitude

**Chapter Twelve**

Remembering Solitude

"What do you think, Dobby?" Hermione asked, a small grin touching her lips as she trailed her fingers over an ornate crystal wind chime. "Would our masters like this? For the center window in the parlor, perhaps?"

"Miss would buy a gift for them?"

The elf sounded mystified by this, and she couldn't help a quick giggle as she nodded. She couldn't say why, but she simply felt as thought she wanted to do something for them . . . . Perhaps because she'd had such a terrible, worrying first impression of what her life as their pet would be like, and now . . . . Now, they treated her as such a treasured thing.

"I would," she said, nodding. "But do you think they'll like this?" The gorgeous stain of crimson on the crystals, and the blackened silver chains that suspended them, suited the Manor's decor, certainly.

"Dobby thinks they will like any gift that is from Miss."

Hermione bit her lip to hold in a smile. Despite her composure, she could feel the flare of warmth in her cheeks as she went to the counter to point out her selection to the proprietor.

"It's getting late, Dobby, perhaps we should head back, now." She tacked on hurriedly, "I don't want our masters to worry."

"Yes, Miss," he said, happy now that she'd let him take half her shopping burden.

As they made their way toward the carriage, Dobby broke away from her side to toddle over and get the driver's attention. The man looked up from his reading, giving the elf a nod and setting aside his book.

Hermione smiled as she approached. "I hope the wait wasn't too much trouble for you, Mr. Goyle?"

He shook his head and nodded toward the pub across the road—she noticed it was within eye-line of the carriage, so he would have seen if they'd returned to the carriage earlier. "Turns out they make an  _excellent_  Sheppard's pie."

"And their mead?"

He offered a grin as he winked. "That wasn't half-bad, either."

Dobby took the shopping bags from her hands and busied himself with stowing them in the carriage. As she turned her head to thank the elf, she glimpsed a familiar face from the corner of her eye.

Looking back to Dobby and Mr. Goyle, she held up a hand. "Give me just another moment, will you?"

"Miss . . ." they said in unison, their tones warning.

"No, no, I'm not running off anywhere, I promise. I just want to say hello to an old friend." When they looked unconvinced, she pointed across the way. "She's right there.  _Please_. I won't be out of your sight a moment!"

Mr. Goyle followed the girl's indication with his gaze. The young woman she'd indicated wore the garb of one of Solitude's Mothers. Sighing, he gave a nod as he held his hand out to assist Dobby to hop into the seat beside him.

"Fine, Miss," he said, attempting to sound gruff. "But we  _will_  keep a steady eye on you."

She nodded her understanding and spun on her heel to start across the road. Honestly, show a little kindness to one homeless vagrant and suddenly everyone was acting as though she couldn't take two steps without putting herself in danger!

As she approached the other woman, her steps slowed. There was happiness in this, but also a hint of sadness. This woman hadn't been like their other Mothers at Solitude. She'd been a pet, returned after her owner had died in the war, and so she'd committed herself to overseeing other girls like herself, rather than allowing the Mothers to re-gift her to some new owner. Only a few years older than Hermione and her Sisters, she was the youngest woman to ever claim such a post.

Forcing a gulp, Hermione smiled sadly. Just as fast, she schooled her features as she said, "Mother Fleur?"

The blonde spun around, a happy expression lighting her beautiful face as she saw the other woman. "Hermione! Oh, gods! How wonderful to see you!"

As Hermione moved into Fleur's waiting hug, she realized how much she missed hearing that foreign accent. "I missed you!"

"And I you!" Fleur pulled Hermione away to look her over at arm's length. "We heard about your new ownership. It seems the Malfoys are treating you well enough,  _oui_?"

" _Oui,_ " Hermione echoed, nodding. "Surprising, I know."

"Have you seen any of your Sisters?"

"Only Luna," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice chipper, but she knew what Mother Fleur was leading to.

"So, then you . . . haven't seen Pansy?"

Shoulders slumping, Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm . . . I'm sorry, I haven't seen her since the day her owners came to collect her."

Fleur nodded, blinking rapidly a few times—Hermione could feel the other woman's sadness brush against her and thought perhaps she was attempting to keep tears at bay. "Ah, it's just as well, I suppose."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask something along the very same lines, but quickly closed it again, her expression closing down.

Fleur's elegant golden brows drew together as she watched the younger woman's face. "You don't need to ask," she whispered. "They miss you, too."

Smiling, Hermione nodded, feeling better. Fleur was the only one who  _knew_ , aside from Pansy. She'd always worried that they'd gotten themselves in trouble over her, but no. Fleur would _not_  keep something like that from her.

She pushed the mention—and her relief—aside, moving them onto chatting about more pleasant things.

* * *

Hermione settled into the carriage, her gaze drifting out the window as Mr. Goyle latched the door soundly and returned to his seat. The marketplace floated by until the buildings thinned and eventually vanished as they made their way toward Malfoy Manor.

Sighing, the images of passing greenery became fuzzy and she closed her eyes. She often tried not to think on her days at Solitude, but seeing Fleur just now—as happy as that chance-meeting had made her—brought bittersweet things rushing back.

* * *

_"Come along, Hermione," Mother Rosmerta said gently, a smile on her pretty face. "His Highness is here to collect you, dear."_

_Biting her lip, Hermione nodded, turning to face Luna and Parvati; Pansy had been collected just yesterday. They each stepped up to hug her, in turn, whispering their farewells in her ears, before she hurried along to follow Mother Rosmerta._

_Schooling her features and measuring her pace, she fell into step just behind the older woman. She clasped her hands neatly in front of herself as she moved, making every motion as fluid as possible._

_As she was led from the main building and out through the courtyard, they made their way out to the path that cut across the grounds and led toward Solitude's imposing, gilded gates._

_That was when she noticed them. In one of the inner gardens, the view from the outside world blocked by impossibly high ruby-rose bushes. There, on one of the curved marble benches, the two dark-haired men sat. Severus was trying to read, while Sirius was trying to distract him, a smile on his face as—she imagined—he told one terrible joke after another._

_Fighting to hold in a pout, she ignored the painful thump in the center of her chest. Then they looked toward her. She thought perhaps comprehension shown in their expressions as they watched her walking along the path._

_Sirius' face fell and he shifted where he sat, but just as quickly, Severus shot an arm out, blocking him. The dark-eyed man shook his head, and Hermione could read the movement of his lips as he said, "We can't."_

_Sirius' blue-grey eyes drifted shut a moment. Upon opening them, he and Severus both returned their attention to her and nodded. Such a simple gesture, but their wounded expressions, and the tell-tale gleam in their eyes spoke volumes._

_It called to mind what had happened a little over a week and a half ago, the day after her formal gifting, and the finalizing of Pansy's sale. They day after they'd undergone the examinations, ensuring their physical purity._

_Hermione looked up from the water to see Pansy step inside. They'd never really gotten along, but now that she knew any day might be the last she saw of her . . . ._

_"What's that look for?" the dark-haired girl asked with a smirk as she slid into the soapy water._

_Shaking her head, Hermione dunked her head back, soaking her bushy, golden-brown mane, before answering. "I know this probably sounds odd, but . . . I actually think I'm going to miss you."_

_Pansy laughed, nodding as she gathered some soap into her hands. "And I actually think I'm going to miss you, too. Odd, isn't it? That hating someone is a sort of bond?"_

_Brow furrowing, Hermione nodded back. "I suppose it is." Frowning, she pulled her dampness-heavy locks over her shoulder to begin scrubbing at them._

_Pansy bit her lip to hold in another laugh. She'd watched the other girl struggle to untangle that mass during washing for years. Drifting forward in the waist-deep water, she continued soaping her hands as she said, "Turn around."_

_Hermione's brows shot up in suspicion. The only one who'd ever offered to wash her hair before was Luna—who'd learned what a battle_ that  _was quick enough._

_"I'm serious. Very soon we may never see each other again, so just . . . let me, okay?"_

_Frowning, Hermione nodded, turning in the water and pushing her heavy hair back over her shoulder. "Okay. But, so help me, if you put the waxing honey in my hair instead of soap—"_

_"I won't do anything funny, I promise."_

_Hermione sighed and tried to relax. Her eyes drifted closed as Pansy worked the soap through her hair, the tips of her fingers moving up to massage the other girl's scalp._

_She sighed again. "That actually feels nice."_

_Pansy laughed. "Told you I wouldn't do anything funny._

_"You only just started," Hermione said, leaning back into the other girl's hands. "There's still time."_

_Again Pansy laughed, her fingertips sweeping across the bare, damp skin of Hermione's back as she gathered the weighty length of the other girl's hair into her hands._

_They heard the door to the baths open at the same time; both smelled the wafting of incense that made their bodies warm and turned the edges of their thoughts fuzzy. They turned as one, a delicious sense of anticipation curling through them as they watched their trainers disrobe._

_As the dark-haired men slipped into the water before them, sponges in hand, Hermione and Pansy cast their gazes downward. Their cheeks were flushed lovely shades of pinkish-red, and they bit into their lips in a wonderful play at being coy._

_"Those are my good girls," Severus said in a purring tone as he tapped the sponge beneath Hermione's chin and lifted, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her blush deepened as she held his gaze. "Aren't you, my dear?"_

_"Yes, Trainer Severus."_

_"Good." Sirius grinned in that winning, wicked way he had as he followed suit, lifting Pansy's gaze to his own, and meeting each girls' eyes, in turn. "Then let us begin. After all, this might well be your final session."_

* * *

"Miss? Miss?"

Hermione blinked open her eyes. She'd not realized she'd drifted off during her reminiscing. Shaking her head to orient herself, she looked to find Mr. Goyle holding open the carriage door as Dobby fetched the bags.

Dobby glanced at her and smiled. "We're home, Miss!"

Nodding, she spared a moment to stare out at Malfoy Manor.  _Home_? Once, that word had made her think of her Sisters, and those two beautiful dark-haired men. Then, home had been the palace, with her Prince, and now . . . .

Now, the word home made her feel the weight of Master Draco's arms around her. It brought to mind moments of catching Master Lucius from the corner of her eye, watching her when he thought she wouldn't notice.

And she found she wanted it to mean something else, now. She wanted it to still call to mind those other recollections, but  _now_ , she also wanted it to mean _permanence_.

Something she wouldn't have to say goodbye to, ever again.

Nodding, she met Dobby's enormous gaze and smiled. "Home," she echoed.

_I_ hope _so_.


	13. Hidden From View

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hidden From View

Just before dinner that evening, Draco unceremoniously grabbed his father by the elbow and dragged the older man into the study. They'd both been at the palace that day, but they'd traveled separately, in case Lucius was detained by their  _illustrious_  new king for any reason.

Hermione—who'd happened home at just that time—was ascending the staircase to deposit her shopping in her room, when she witnessed the spectacle further down the corridor.

Brows shooting up in surprise, she tried not to laugh at the look of utter bewilderment on Master Lucius' usually stern face. Tilting her head to one side, she watched as the younger Malfoy pulled his father into the room and quickly shut the door. Her eyebrows rose again at the sound of the lock clicking into place. Shaking her head, she continued into her room.

* * *

At the sound of the door locking, Lucius extracted his arm from his son's grasp and spun on his heel. "What, precisely, is the meaning of this?"

The serious expression on Draco's face stilled Lucius' muted anger a moment.

"Sit down, we  _need_  to speak."

Lucius offered a nod, though he deigned to round his desk and take a seat. Propping his elbows upon the fine, polished wood surface, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. "All right, you have my undivided attention. What is so  _very_  important that you would manhandle your father?"

Draco approached, bracing his palms on the desk and leaning forward. "I had an interesting chat with Aunt Bella today."

How completely unimpressed with this lead-in Lucius was caused his face to fall. Honestly, after getting in the carriage and pulling away from the palace, the last thing he wanted to think on was Voldemort and Bellatrix. He was still puzzling over whether to advise the girl that her former—if for only brief moment—owner was intent on having her company.

Shaking his head at his father's markedly underwhelmed expression, Draco said, "I know  _why_  Aunt Bella made Voldemort give Hermione away. And it's something you're  _going_  to want to hear."

His eyebrows drawing upward, Lucius sat back in his chair. "I am listening."

"She has magic!"

Lucius sputtered a laugh at his son's serious face. "You must be joking. That girl has not shown a hint of—"

"Hasn't she?" Draco frowned, wishing his father would just shut the bloody hell up long enough for him to get the full explanation out all at once. "Aunt Bella gave her away because she felt magic from her, and thought she might threaten Auntie's place at Voldemort's side."

Lucius' mouth puckered as he let this tumble about in his head. If Bellatrix sensed magic from that girl, then it probably was there, but . . . . "That makes very little sense, son. Everyone knows how valuable girls with Gifts are to Solitude—they don't  _give_ them away for free, not even to The Crown."

"They would if they didn't know, or can't show it," Draco answered, excited, his voice breathy. "I'm late home, because I stopped into the Apothecary and—"

"And what  _did_  that old codger Garrick tell you?"

The young man shook his head. " _Not_  Mr. Olivander . . . his pet, Minerva. She used to handle magical studies for the girls of Solitude who needed training. I asked her if someone could have magic, but be unaware of it. And she said  _yes_ —it's rare, but it does happen." He rushed on before Father could ask. "Sometimes, she said, it's internalized. Not something the person can control, or knowingly use. If the person were a pet, they couldn't be sold, because there's no way to market something that can't be proved. Instead it . . . helps them adapt to their surroundings. Helps them to read people."

Lucius' broad shoulders drooped a bit as he processed the information. "Helps them to respond accordingly, I suppose."

"If that's true . . . . Then wouldn't it explain how she is?" Draco fell into one of the armchairs that faced the desk. "We keep saying she's perfect . . . . How can't that be true if she can sense what we want from her?"

A brow arching, Lucius asked, recalling the incident with the street urchin, "Then why would she do anything of which we might disapprove?"

"I would assume because she has a personality and a mind of her own, despite this," Draco answered, grey eyes flicking upward to rove the ceiling.

"Strangely adds to it, I suppose." Lucius nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Neither of us would be content with a puppet, after all."

There was a soft knock on the door, then.

"Who comes?" Lucius called, holding in a sigh at this revelation. It changed nothing, but he knew they couldn't let Voldemort hear of this, were it true. He'd only snatch her back, after convincing Bellatrix the girl was no threat to her station due to the nature of her magic.

"Master Lucius, Master Draco?"

The men exchanged a glance as Hermione's voice floated into the room.

"Yes, Pet?" Draco said, prompted by his father nodding toward the door.

"I . . . I have something for you. Might I come in?"

Brow furrowing, Draco mouthed the question to Lucius, "She has something  _for_  us?"

Lucius shrugged, a mystified expression playing across his features. He nodded toward the door again, and Draco eased out of his chair to cross the room and unlock it.

The girl smiled winningly at Draco, her hands clasped behind her back. She giggled softly when he hurriedly ducked his head to kiss her.

"You have something for us, my dear?" Lucius asked, one corner of his mouth curving upward in a half-grin.

"Yes." She stepped in and proceeded to the desk, Draco striding along beside her. "I found something I thought would be a perfect gift. Something for the Manor." There was something in their countenances that caused her expression to dim. Frowning suddenly, she tacked on, "B—but if you don't like it, I'll be happy to return to the shop and exchange it for—"

"Nonsense, Pet," Lucius said, one hand raised. "I am certain whatever your gift is, we will like it." He was admittedly a bit surprised that she would think to get a present for them. "Let's see this gift, then."

Biting her lip, she lifted her arm from behind her back, showing them the exquisite crimson crystal wind chime. Her masters looked at one another a moment, making her worry they would find something wrong with the present—despite that she was so certain they liked it.

She cleared her throat, her small, rounded shoulders moving in a shrug. "I thought we might hang it in—"

"In the parlor?" Draco asked, his brows drawing together as he glanced from her, to the dangling crystals, and back.

Smiling, she nodded. "So then you do like it?" There was a clear undercurrent of relief edging her voice.

Concern coiled in the pit of his stomach, but Lucius pushed that aside as he nodded. He gave Draco a pointed look as he said, "Actually, my dear . . . I do believe it's perfect."

The girl beamed, spinning on her heel and hurrying from the room. Draco followed behind her, presumably to accompany her to the parlor and help her hang it—poor thing was too short to reach the upper sill of the windows unassisted, after all.

Lucius frowned deeply as he let the conversation with Draco play through his head, once more. The girl could sense what they needed of her, and respond accordingly,  _training_ notwithstanding. Yes, that certainly would explain much. Voldemort didn't know, Solitude wouldn't admit it, and Bellatrix certainly wasn't going to say a word.

He needn't worry, he assured himself. If no one who knew of this matter was willing to speak on it, then there was  _no_  way for Voldemort to find out.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hermione thought for certain her masters were scrutinizing her. She'd become accustomed to them watching her every now and then, certainly, but this was more intense. As though they were looking for something? Or waiting for something, perhaps?

She fretted that she'd done something wrong, and they were waiting for her to make a graver error. As much as she was coming to love them, she couldn't help thinking that Master Lucius would rather enjoy delivering to her the sort of punishment he'd stated upon her first day at Malfoy Manor.

Yet then, they would act no differently toward her. Such an odd and incongruous thing. She realized with an unpleasant start that this had all began after Master Lucius' visit to the palace. Perhaps they were trying to discern the reason she was deemed an unsatisfactory pet for the Usurper.

It couldn't really be so hard to believe that Dame Bellatrix simply hadn't liked her, could it? Each time she let her mind dwell on this, however, she found herself going in circles, and chose to push the thoughts aside.

* * *

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Master Lucius," Hermione said, yet another few days later—as they waited for the landowners to arrive for their meeting. They stood in his study, and he'd explained precisely what it was that he'd meant when he said he might have need of her.

Glancing from his desk—which looked large enough to hide her beneath it, certainly—back to him, she continued, "I'm not certain I heard you correctly."

Lucius smirked, reaching to trace one leather-gloved fingertip along the edge of her ear. The girl shivered and a hazy gleam flickered through those large chestnut eyes of hers for the briefest moment.

Assured that she would listen intently, this time, he started again. "I know it sounds base, Pet. However, these . . . meetings test my patience in a way precious few other matters in life do. You will place yourself beneath my desk so that you are . . . ." Once again, he tried for delicate phrasing—because while saucy, more vulgar words would bring that lovely wash of color to her cheeks, it would also distract her momentarily, and he wanted to hold her full attention. "So that you are in a position to soothe me, should I become too tense during these talks."

Her cheeks did fill with color, then, but she nodded her understanding. Even if she did so with her lips parted, and a small breath rushing from between them in a way that made him wish he could call off this dreadful meeting. But, if he and the other landowners couldn't come to an agreement over taxes on property holdings, then it would be up to the Crown to decide. He winced inwardly to think what Voldemort would do with such a decision.

Hermione cleared her throat, shaking her head as he guided her by the hand to his desk. There was a sense of wickedness to this—hiding under his desk to soothe him, unbeknownst to people with whom he'd be in midst of carrying on important discussions. Honestly, there was something so deliciously scandalous in the idea that the very notion sent warm tingles coursing through her, and she thought perhaps she was starting to understand his occasional risqué behavior a bit better.

"Do these matters really vex you so much?"

Master Lucius gave a languid shrug, his lips curving in a wry smile. "Well, to be fair, money and property are matters taken quite seriously if one means to keep them. Last quarter's meeting devolved so fast, there was shouting, death threats, and even items thrown."

Her brows shot up.

A thoughtful expression graced his features. "Lucky for Lord Quirrell that he has good reflexes, or I'd have caught him right in the—"

Master Lucius' recollection was cut short by a knock at the door. He turned his attention to the sound as Hermione blinked hard and shook her head, trying to get past the thought of a roomful of nobles breaking into the sort of scuffle that was likely usually reserved for low-end pubs.

"They're here, Master Lucius," Dobby said, offering Hermione a bright little grin and a wave.

Hermione waved back, smiling as Master Lucius glanced about, to be certain there was enough liquor on the silver tray beside the sofa. Nodding at the sight of several, full, cut-crystal decanters, he returned his gaze to the elf.

"Dobby, give us a count of . . . . twenty, and then show them up."

After Dobby toddled away, Hermione looked up at Master Lucius in question. "Twenty? How long do you think it takes for a person to duck under a desk?"

Lucius shook his head, his eyes rolling. "He counts fast."

Already they could hear voices and footfalls downstairs. Her eyes shot wide—that _was_  fast—but Master Lucius caught her by surprise, dragging her against him as he kissed her. His tongue darted between her lips, playfully caressing and teasing, before he released her, again.

She let out a quick, startled breath as she met his gaze. The footsteps were on the staircase, now.

Pulling out his chair, he nodded beneath the desk with his chin. "Down you go, Pet," he whispered with a wink and the quick, upward flick of one brow.


	14. More Than Want

**Chapter Fourteen**

More Than Want

Hermione listened as Master Lucius greeted his guests. She ignored the names and the tensely exchanged pleasantries. The discussion from only a few moments ago had her well aware that none of them really wanted to be here, at least not for such a miserable subject.

She could hear his footfalls—strange that she could pick them out from those of his guests—as he crossed the room, back to where he'd hidden her. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and a tiny, heated coil of anticipation settled in the pit of her stomach as he got into his chair and carefully eased himself beneath his desk.

He dropped one hand down beside his lap, crooking his finger at her.

Deliberately ignoring the conversation picking up in the room as the sounds of shuffling and settling echoed dully through the wood surrounding her, she lifted her hands. She stroked her fingertips up along his legs through his clothes. Up, over his thighs, to where she unfastened his trousers—the sound of rustling fabric easily buried beneath the discussion going on over her head.

She shifted closer to him as she slipped his cock free of his clothes. He wasn't hard, yet, but that wouldn't be difficult to accomplish.

Hermione kept one hand pressed to his thigh, carefully gauging the tension in his muscles to know when he  _required_  her. She stroked over him gently, teasingly, with her other hand. The most delicate of touches, just enough to bring him to life beneath her fingers.

The muscles in Master Lucius' thigh tightened, and she leaned forward, lapping her tongue playfully over the head of his cock. He relaxed almost instantly, his posture easing, sinking back into the chair a bit, so his legs slid forward on either side of her. She imagined that to his guests, he probably looked as though he was lounging carelessly.

He slipped a hand beneath the desk, tangling his gloved fingers in her hair.

Moving a bit closer, still, she worked her fist over the length of his cock as she took the head into her mouth. She licked and suckled at his skin, sealing her lips around him.

She had to stifle a wickedly amused giggle when he tightened his fingers into a fist in her hair to stop her. Easing back, she settled into delicately stroking with only her fingers, once more. Playing with him was  _quite_  lovely, but she didn't wish to try his patience. Especially not during such an important time.

But then, he tensed again. And again, she brought her mouth to him, suckling at the head of his cock until his grip on her hair stopped her, once more.

By the fourth time of this, Hermione found she had to force herself to follow his instruction. She didn't want to stop—there was something about the taste of his skin, about the texture of it beneath her lips and against her tongue.

He was so deliciously hard, so  _ready._

Even as he held her back, so that she could only use her hands, Hermione crept forward, just a little. She stroked the head of his cock with the very tip of her tongue, that sweet ache pulsing between her thighs at the fine tremor that ran through him.

She expected his fist to tighten further, expected him to urge her back, again. Instead, his fingers loosened, his palm pressing against the back of her head to pull her closer.

A warm, tingling shudder rocked her as her lips brushed against his cock. She opened her mouth, licking and suckling once more, her fist working the length, the tips of her fingers rubbing against the delicate underside.

Vaguely she heard raised voices, but she could tell Master Lucius' was not among them. She could hear the timbre of his voice over her, could feel the hum of it against her skin, when he spoke. She still refused to focus on his words, but  _he_  sounded calm.

Releasing him just long enough to let out a sigh—content that she was helping, after all—she tipped her head to one side, drawing him into her mouth in longer, deeper strokes.

Again, she became aware of shuffling sounds, and footfalls, but Master Lucius made no move to push her away. His gloved fingers flexed before tightening into a fist, once more.

He tugged at her, forcing her mouth around his cock faster.

She squirmed, feeling a damp warmth between her thighs as he tensed against her.

The sound of the door closing was strangely loud through the room, and suddenly he pulled her mouth from him. He threw back his chair and stood.

A bit dazed, and frightened suddenly that she had angered him by getting carried away in her task, she could only listen to him storm to the door to flick the lock into place. When he returned to the desk, she hadn't moved.

"Come out from under there, Pet," he said—she could tell by his tone his teeth were clenched. " _Now_."

Biting hard into her bottom lip, she crawled out and climbed to her feet. She couldn't look at him. He sounded far too angry, and she found it  _very_  difficult to look at him seriously when he still had his cock—still hard, and glistening from her mouth—hanging out.

"Stand over there," he instructed, his voice tight as he pointed to spot just before the back of the sofa.

Hermione swallowed hard, nodding as she moved to the place he'd indicated. He was probably going to fetch rope to bind her for punishment.

She heard his steps as he walked up behind her. He stood so close for a moment that she could feel the heat of his skin through their clothing.

His hand slid beneath her hair, curling around the back of her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat as she waited.

Master Lucius pushed her forward, bending her over the back of the sofa. He slid his hands along her body, to her hips, where he began pulling up the length of her dress.

"I was _almost_ angry with you, Pet," he whispered, tracing up the back of her bared thigh with the tips of his gloved fingers.

Relief washed through her, but she couldn't bring herself to question him.

"You got a bit . . . overly playful. It was all I could do to concentrate." He parted her, tipping his head as he leaned back to run his gaze over slick, pink skin. "But I see, now."

She gasped as he rubbed a fingertip over her.

Lucius smirked. "I see that the task excited you. And I can hardly be angry for  _that_ , now can I?"

Uncertain if he wanted her to answer her not, she opened her mouth to speak. But whatever words might've come out were cut off by pleading whimper as he thrust the fingers of his free hand inside her.

He rubbed harder, the slick little bundle of nerves sliding beneath the leather and a violent shiver wracked her.

Master Lucius made a rumbling sound of satisfaction deep in the back of his throat as his fingers pushed into her and withdrew, again and again.

"It's all right, Pet," he said, his pitch low and gravely. "Tell me, what made you so excited that you forgot yourself?" He stroked faster. "That you became so very,  _very_ , wet?"

Hermione had to force herself to speak. Her voice tumbled out low, and breathy, the words chocked between little hiccupping moans. "It was only you, Master Lucius."

He arched a brow. "What do you mean by that, Pet?"

She licked her lips, turning her head to look back, to catch his gaze. "I just . . . . I made you hard, I wanted to do more. I wanted . . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say the words, not with him watching her expression, thrusting his gloved fingers into her and working between her thighs.

Master Lucius chuckled. He withdrew his fingers, maneuvering to enter her with only the head of his cock. She gave another of those delightful pleading whimpers, but he didn't move any further.

"You wanted  _what_ , Pet?"

"I wanted to make you come, Master Lucius."

He let out a hissing breath between clenched teeth. "Such vulgarity, my pet. I think I rather like it. Anything more?"

She shivered, anxious for him to thrust forward. "I wanted you inside me, Master Lucius."

Lucius took a moment with that, smiling as his teeth sank into his bottom lip. "That's a good girl," he said as he rocked his hips, sliding into her hard and deep.

Hermione pressed her face into the sofa's cushion, muffling a scream as he withdrew and buried himself inside her, again and again.

He slipped his hands over her hips, pulling her up higher. She strained beautifully, standing on her toes, the muscles of her legs tensing to keep her positioned for him. But the shift also immobilized her, and he responded by sharpening his thrusts, moving into her harder and faster.

She curled her fingers into the upholstery, crying out. She tried to wiggle her hips, tried to rock, anything, to meet his strokes.

Master Lucius made a purring sound before he tsked at her. "I'll reward you after, pet," he whispered, his deep voice trembling as he tried to hold out a little longer.

Her body clenched around his cock, tight and warm, pushing his closer. Uttering a pained groan, he decided to give in, thrusting into her at a frenzied, erratic pace before he stilled.

Unable to move much to aid him, Hermione forced her grip of her body to ease and tighten around him again and again as he came.

"Dear gods," he breathed the words with a rich chuckle, impressed.

He withdrew, easing her to straighten up. Slipping his arms around her waist, he walked backward, pulling her with him until they bumped his desk.

He rested his hips back against it for support as he held her to him. Once more he tugged the length of her dress out of his way.

She was so wet, slick and throbbing, he could feel the warmth of her through the leather of his glove as he stroked her. The girl rocked her hips, working herself over his fingers—he was truly starting to love how she seemed incapable of holding still—as she once again stood on her toes.

Hermione braced herself against Master Lucius' body, sweet, warm tremors searing through her at each delicious brush of leather against her.

He grinned, feeling her tremble beneath this touch as she tried to hold on. "Come for me, Pet."

A gasp escaped her at his command—Master Lucius didn't say such things—but she listened, pushing her body until the orgasm crashed over her.

She let her head fall back against Master Lucius' chest, her hands gripped into the sleeves of his jacket. He held her still, so that she curled up a little against him as it ebbed before she was able to move with the sweet, rippling, aftershocks, working herself over his gloved, stroking fingertips, once more.

When she finally halted, fighting to catch her breath, he withdrew his hand. Shifting enough to let her dress fall back into place, he then lifted her against him.

Before Hermione was really aware they'd moved, Master Lucius had pushed back, rather informally, to sit on his desk. He pulled her up into his lap, cradling her in his arms.

After a moment of listening to his breath—of listening to the beat of his heart beneath her ear, her head resting against the hollow of his shoulder, as it was—she finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Master Lucius."

A curious frown tugging at his lips, he tipped his head to catch her gaze, his long, pale hair sliding over her shoulder. "Whatever for, Pet?"

"For getting too excited with the task you gave me." She didn't understand what about that confused him.

His brows drew upward in surprise, but one corner of his mouth pinched in a half-grin. Bowing his head, he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. "Well, that was not  _so_  grave a transgression, after all, I suppose."

He wouldn't say it to her, of course, but he was mildly disappointed that he'd had the perfect opportunity to punish her, and he'd squandered it. Perhaps this outcome  _was_  better, but even so, he couldn't say he wasn't intrigued by the idea of it.

The question that bothered him, though, wasn't if she would give him another opportunity to dole out the delightfully exquisite punishment he had in store for her. It was if he'd let this chance today escape him due to physical desires, or due to a different sort of feeling for the girl, entirely.


	15. The Long Way 'Round

**Chapter Fifteen**

The Long Way 'Round

Hermione fidgeted in the carriage. She sat still, mostly—dainty ankles crossed, back straight, shoulders squared, and her hands neatly in her lap—but her restless fingers toyed with the gold bangles circling her wrists.

This was hardly an appointment she looked forward to, and Master Draco's delay with  _whatever_  was keeping him in the Manor only caused her dread to deepen. She imagined a horrid scenario in which he was detained, and yet  _she_  ended up expected to still visit with Lord Cygnus unaccompanied, for some unnamed reason which could clearly only have been concocted to give her fits.

Clearing her throat, she opened the window and leaned her head out. "Pardon me, Mr. Goyle?"

The driver turned his head from the periodical he held open before him, meeting her gaze over his shoulder. "Yes, Miss?"

Shifting in her seat a little, she asked, "Did Master Draco really not say what's keeping him?"

"Sorry, Miss," he said with a grin and a wink. "Only told me he'd be another few moments."

Hermione pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she sat back. She snapped her window shut with a resounding  _clack_  and folded her arms beneath her breasts. Honestly! Mr. Goyle did know what was keeping their master, but he  _refused_  to share.

How utterly infuriating!

* * *

"You must be joking," Draco said, blinking a few times as he shook his head.

"I am not." Father didn't look up from the book before him.

"So, I'm just supposed to be fine with your decision to . . . to share her? With Severus and Uncle Sirius, of  _all_  people?"

Lucius snapped the book shut and met his son's gaze, holding up his free hand in a placating gesture. "I understand how it sounds, but she has a history with them. A history no one knows of but me, and now, of course, you."

"Look, Father, you know I normally enjoy your little  _let's start a scandal_  games, but I really think this time—"

"I  _said_  I understand how this sounds, but that is not what this is."

"Oh, I'm to believe that, am I?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed lethally as he watched his son pace in angry, heavy steps before where he was seated upon the chaise in the library. "I admit, yes, that was how it started, but as today drew closer, I realized . . . . They are likely important to her. I could have called it off, but then it occurred to me that I should let her have this."

Draco finally stopped, mid-stride, and pivoted on his heel to face Lucius. "Why?" Honestly, he was so frustrated with Father's decision, with being excluded from the process of making such a decision, that he thought he could actually cry . . . or strangle the man with his bare hands.

Which he was leaning toward more was anyone's guess, really.

"Because she deserves it," the elder Malfoy said simply. He'd had a rather bothersome epiphany after that meeting the other day. He cared for her,  _actually_  cared. Of course, one could argue that most people didn't show they cared by arranging a surprise reunion that would likely turn into a sexual escapade with other men, but then the Malfoys were  _not_ most people.

Draco frowned and folded his arms across his chest as he waited for Father to elaborate.

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. This was far too early in the day to be getting into a row with his son. "Her life, everything about it, every moment of it, has been decided by the whims and desires of others. Always."

It crashed in on Draco, then. Her tears over having her own possessions, her confusion over having time to herself and decisions that rested in her hands. Her thoughtfulness that she should be out, shopping for herself, and still buy  _them_  a gift.

"You're going through with this," he said, his eyes drifting closed as he nodded, "because you believe this is something she would want."

Mirroring the gesture, Lucius echoed his son's words. "Because I believe this is something she would want."

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "So, I'm to send her home ahead of me. Fine. What business am I to discuss with Grandfather after she's left that is  _so_  urgent?"

"Cygnus is well-versed in legal matters. I want you to ask him what steps we must take to make Hermione permanently ours."

" _Permanently_  ours?" Draco fell into a sitting position beside his father, delighted, yet at the same time feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Yes, Draco." Father grinned, his brows lifting ever so slightly. "She only came to us because she was taken from her previous owner. We are going to ensure that such an incident will  _not_  be repeated."

Draco left the library far less angry than when he'd entered. He needed to hurry, as he knew the carriage awaited, but . . . . He supposed another few moments wouldn't hurt, as he turned away from the foyer to start for the rear entrance.

* * *

Hermione jumped a little as the door opposite her opened. Master Draco stood, in a sharp black suit—as per usual—but the look on his face jarred her. His expression was so serious, almost stern, that for a moment she scrambled to recall if she'd done anything wrong.

Then that harsh look softened, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners ever so slightly. The barest slip of a smile plucked the corners of his mouth upward.

His silence was killing her. "Master Draco," she said, sliding toward him across the cushioned bench. "What is it?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Shaking his head, he smiled a bit broader as he produced a handful of fragrant, milky-white flowers from behind his back. "For you."

Her eyes widened and the tip of her nose stung as her gaze shot from his to the small bouquet, and back. "Pearl-vanilla blossoms? Oh, Master Draco!" She took the present, bringing the flowers close to her face to inhale the sweet, mild scent of them.

Beaming, he climbed into the carriage as she sat back and closed the door securely behind him. He settled on the bench across from hers, watching her joyous expression as she examined the petals with delicate, lace-gloved fingertips.

"Do you like them?"

Hermione met his gaze over the flowers. "They're my favorite! How did you—?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You've been talking to Tully about me."

As the carriage wheels kicked into motion beneath them, he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "Sorry, that's what kept me. I took the long way 'round, through the gardens."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her. Draco felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sound of it. After the conversation he'd just had with Father, it seemed every little thing Hermione did took on some subtle, new meaning.

"You nicked these from the gardens? Tully is going to want to have a word with you when we return, you know."

Draco smirked, nodding. "I think that's putting it mildly. Pretty sure once he notices, I'll be the first person murdered by their house elf."

Again she giggled, bringing the blossoms close for another long whiff of their lovely fragrance.

His gaze traveled over her as she was distracted with admiring her gift. She was still, of course, the same girl who'd come into their possession a month ago. That same wild golden-brown hair, though now it was constantly tended and tamed by Dobby's monumental efforts each morning—but, secretly, Draco enjoyed that wild, untamed look of her hair loose, better. How perfectly she'd held herself, so controlled, it bordered on stiff, had relaxed over time, too. Certainly, she still possessed that perfect posture and regal, lady-like countenance in her movements and gestures, but now there was a sort of comfort to it, all.

The wide, chestnut eyes that had seemed to take in every action around her as though she was constantly awaiting judgment or admonishment had softened. A genuine lightness shone each time she smiled, reflecting in them.

He knew all at the palace—before the Potters had been overthrown, of course—had adored her, so he couldn't imagine they'd ever been cross with her over anything, and yet . . . . Draco understood with a sharp, unpleasant sting that she'd held herself in such a painful, scrutinized way when she first came to the Manor, because of  _them_.

Because of Father and himself.

Even without her strange, adaptive magic, that made total sense. She'd been getting a feel of her surroundings, gauging her new owners and what they would want of her.

Sometimes, he thought perhaps she had become infatuated with them. Most of those times, he hoped it was  _more_  than an infatuation, as he couldn't speak to Father's emotions—though he was rather certain they were the same as his own—he was quite positive he'd become enamored of her.

But, he couldn't help wondering, how long had it  _really_ taken her to comprehend that she could find comfort with them? Did their feelings toward her affect her magic? Did it help her to understand them better, only? Or was it more than that?

Did it hinder her self-awareness of her own desires?

Inspiration struck, and he shot forward, taking a seat beside her. The surprise in her face at his sudden movement was adorable.

"What do you want to do?"

Hermione's brow furrowed, confusion pinching her features. "What?"

A half-smiled tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I asked what do you want to do? Anything, name it, and we'll go."

She laughed, a strange sense of elation stealing through her. "What? Right now?"

"Of course."

Her gaze searched his face, looking for some sign that he might be joking, but she saw no glimpse of that. "We—we can't do anything so spontaneous, Master Draco."

"And just why can't we?" he asked, an eyebrow arching.

"We're expected at Black Estate," she said, her head shaking in disbelief. He couldn't possibly have forgotten.

Laughing, he shook his head. "Yes, I know, but . . . ." He leaned close, kissing her quick before pulling back and continuing his explanation. "We could stand to be an hour or two late, I think."

"I doubt Lord Black will be pleased by having to wait." She liked that he was offering her something like this—more than  _liked_ , though that was another matter—but she was already concerned about the impression she would make on Draco's grandfather.

He smirked, opening the window and leaning toward it just enough that he could yell to the driver. "Mr. Goyle, can you think of any reason our arrival at my grandfather's might be delayed?"

Hermione was a little shocked to hear Mr. Goyle's responding chuckle float through the carriage interior. "Oh, certainly, Master Malfoy. I do believe I see a tree fallen across the road a bit of a ways up ahead. Seems we'll have to backtrack and go the long way 'round."

Snapping the window shut, Draco made a thoughtful face as he nodded. "What do you know? Terrible coincidence, that."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

"So," he asked again, crooking a finger beneath her chin and leaning close as he held her gaze. "I ask again, what do you want to do?"

She nipped playfully at his lips before answering. "Can we go to a Statuary?"

Master Draco frowned, speaking his misgivings on the thought, immediately. "Of all places . . . . Honestly, a sculpture garden?"

"I've never been to one," she said, her shoulders rising and falling as she let out a breath.

"They're just mazes of statues and topiaries."

"I know." Hermione turned her head away, flicking her gaze out the window behind her. "Solitude had statues and manicured shrubbery in the gardens, but nothing like what I've read about Statuaries."

"You're positive? Anything you could ask for, and that's what you want?"

She faced him again, looking into his eyes. "That's what I want, Master Draco."

There was something solid in her tone, buried, but distinct. "I see, Pet. This is important to you, isn't it?

She nodded.

"Tell me why?"

Hermione bit her lip for a few, silent heartbeats. "My . . . my father was an artist. A sculptor, actually."

Draco felt a fist close around his heart. He'd thought Solitude girls had no families—they were orphans, made so by the ravages of war or illness and sent to the sprawling compound while still infants, everyone knew that. "You  _remember_  your parents?"

"Not really. They grew ill when I was still quite young. I was barely walking, I think. When they got sick, I . . . simply didn't. No one knows how I escaped it."

That made a sad, sick type of sense to Draco, but he didn't dare mention it. Her magic must've saved her. It was only natural for parents to want to spare their child's suffering—that strange and subtle power must've shielded her from contamination.

"Some of his sculptures are in Solitude's gardens," she said, oblivious to his moment of reluctant comprehension. "Mother Sybil mentioned it to me during one of her lucid moments."

"One of her  _lucid_ moments?"

A gentle smile played on her lips, aware that Master Draco could understand her sense of loss, if only partly. After all, she'd learned during one of their tea time chats that his mother, Lady Narcissa Black, had passed from illness when he was just three years old.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said with a laugh. "She drinks so much, she might as well have a wine goblet growing out of each hand."

Grinning, Master Draco raised a hand, cupping her cheek. "All right, a Statuary, then."

She shifted in her seat, resting her head against his shoulder as he opened the window and shouted their new destination to Mr. Goyle.


	16. The Sweetest of Failings

**Chapter Sixteen**

The Sweetest of Failings

_The girl was sitting at the desk in her room, her small, rounded shoulders hunched in concentration as she poured over something in front of her. She was one of the only girls to request a work space in her quarters—perhaps that was the first thing that had set her apart in their minds._

_Severus stepped in, holding the door for Sirius, and then closing it behind the other man. They'd long mastered the art of moving silently, but somehow, still, she seemed to know they were there, before the plumes of incense from the notched tin canister Sirius carried could possibly have reached her._

_The set of her shoulders eased and there was a small, yet distinct_ click  _through the room as she set down her quill. Lowering her gaze to the floor, she slipped from her chair and turned to face them. She kept her eyes cast down as she curtseyed._

_Sirius set the incense by the window sill and drew the shade as Severus pulled the chair up, beside the bed, and placed the familiar black leather case upon it. He flicked the latch and lifted the lid, letting it fall back on its hinge. Severus spared a moment to right the instruments. They ranged from delicate to harsh—feathers, carefully arranged bunches of fur, and cotton, and waxy, mildly-coarse webbing, ribbed coils of silk and satin, and dry, bristly sponges._

_Sirius' favorite item was the leather pads, designed to slip over the tops of their hands to apply pressure more widely and evenly than their gloved finger might. Severus' . . . he was surprised he actually had to hold in a wistful sigh as the tips of his long, tapered fingers trailed over the paddle. Simple, wooden, coated in a black, high-polished lacquer. It was really_ quite _the lovely instrument._

_He felt the oddest weight, then, and thought it certain that even though his attention was not on her, she had flicked her gaze in his direction. That she'd seen that fleeting, but adoring, touch._

_Clearing his throat, he turned to face her._

_"Trainer Severus, Trainer Sirius." She fought not to lift her gaze to either of them._

_She'd once—_ once _—made the mistake of meeting Sirius' blue-grey gaze during training. She'd nearly thought her heart would stop when, rather than reprimanding her for looking during a moment when she should not have been, he'd offered her a grin and a wink, instead._

_"What would you have of me?"_

_"Undress," was all Severus said in response._

_Hermione had to repress a shiver at the sound of his voice. But then, Trainer Severus' voice had that effect on all the girls. Deep and rich and commanding, yet each syllable slow and perfectly enunciated, so that his speech pattern seemed drawn-out and almost lazy. She sometimes wondered if the other girls misbehaved around him on purpose, simply so they could hear_ that _voice speak words of admonishment._

_The trainers also didn't always require them to fully undress, so she had all she could do to hold in a giddy fluttering in her stomach as she wondered what they had planned for her today._

_As she disrobed, Severus turned back toward the case, slipping the two pairs of black leather gloves from the strap inside the lid. He held out Sirius' pair, waiting for the other man to take them before slipping on his own._

_Severus lifted the open case, offering its contents to Sirius. Turning his thoughtful gaze to Hermione—who carefully placed her folded dress inside her wardrobe and then resumed her original place to stand before them gloriously nude—Sirius looked her over before nodding and reaching for one of the small bundles of wax webbing._

_Hermione pretended not to notice his selection. He was being cruel today, wasn't he? That_  was  _her favorite, and he well knew that. There was simply something divine in the way the thin lines of interconnected wax—with their smooth surface, but rigid form—scraped across her skin._

_About the way he used it to scratch in rough, teasing circles around her nipples, until they were hard and even the faintest touch to them made her whimper and squirm, before sliding the bundle down over her ribcage, and lower. About the way he only needed to rub it gently between her thighs, the coarseness of the wax lines doing most of the work for him._

_But then she felt the flame in her cheeks and realized she could not possibly hide her reaction from them._

_"She blushes," Sirius observed, his tone holding a hint of amusement—and something else Hermione couldn't quite name, but whatever it was made her think he enjoyed these sessions with her perhaps more than he was_ supposed _to._

_Yet, certainly not more than she minded._

_"Then, perhaps she is ready for us to begin," Severus said in that delicious, lazy drawl of his._

_He stepped up to her, touching the tips of two gloved fingers beneath her chin and lifting so that she met his gaze. A frown graced his thin lips as he asked, "Well, my good girl? Are you ready for your training?"_

_Severus stood so close, she could feel the heat of his skin against hers through his clothing. "Yes, Trainer Severus," she whispered, filled with a sudden, sharp awareness of every centimeter of her skin._

_He backpedaled half a step, enough to sweep his gaze down over her naked form._

_Sirius moved to stand beside him, the faintest mischievous smirk touching one corner of his mouth as he asked, "Are you aroused, dearest?"_

_The tip of her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her lips—she told herself it was only her imagination that both men's eyes dropped for a fraction of a second to watch—as she nodded. "I—I am, Trainer Sirius."_

_"Wet, already, my good girl?" Severus' head tipped to one side as the question tumbled from his lips._

_She opened her mouth to reply, but could work up no words with them both staring at her in such a way. Instead, she nodded._

_"Perhaps we should verify that," Severus said, his gaze once more fastened mercilessly on hers._

_Hermione gasped at the sudden press of his long, gloved fingers between her thighs. She shifted to accommodate him, parting her legs a little to give him room to explore. A tiny, delightful shiver wracked her as his hand slid back and forward, once, twice, before he withdrew._

_He lifted his fingers, so that he and Sirius could inspect the leather for the telltale, glistening sheen. That she should be so ready when they'd not touched her yet was a wonderful thing, indeed. Severus hated to think it, but he was certain he would be sorry to see this one leave Solitude. He already knew Sirius would be—he could tell by the look that came over the other man's face when they discussed her. Which, now that he thought on it, turned out to be alarmingly often._

_But in regard to himself? That was preposterous. He did not get_  attached  _to his trainees._

_However, as being_ ready _the moment her master desired her was one of the goals of training, he considered the show of arousal a victory._

_He squared his jaw, ignoring that his mouth watered the longer he stared at that damp sheen against the black leather. Dropping his hand to his side, he said, "Stand at the foot of your bed."_

_She moved into place, wondering if their gazes followed her as she crossed the room. Despite her curiosity, she didn't dare turn her head to see if the feeling of certainty fluttering in the pit of her stomach could be correct._

_She heard the footfalls approach, one moving to either side of her, yet she kept her gaze trained on the curling bars of wrought iron that edged the foot of the bed. Gloved hands slipped around her wrists, lifting her arms and guiding her fingers to wrap around the bars. A second pair of hands pushed her gently forward to bend at the waist, before slipping over her hips to lift her to stand on her toes._

_For a moment, they stood back from her, not moving closer, not touching her. Hermione imagined they were simply looking at her, and she struggled not to tremble under their scrutiny._

_Someone approached, but she only became aware that it was Sirius when he sank to his knees and crawled forward. He turned, sitting directly beneath her. She met his gaze, though she hadn't meant to, and immediately snapped her eyes shut._

_"Oh, don't fret, dearest," he said, she could tell he was smiling by the tone of his voice. "Your training at the point largely seems a formality."_

_Yet, that very thing was what she feared. How could they not understand that? She'd heard them before, calling her perfect, wondering aloud if they really needed to keep training her. What if they stopped and she was destined for a mistake, but they simply never got her to that point?_

_She vehemently ignored the idea that she would miss the training sessions—or the men administering them—for her own, selfish reasons._

_She must've slipped, or shivered, she realized, because Severus' hands slipped around her hips to hold her steady. He stood so near, she thought just a half-step closer and his body would press against the backs of her parted thighs, against her naked bum._

_She had to remind herself to breathe at that notion._

_Color must've flooded her cheeks to accompany the thought, because it seemed Sirius was waiting for something. He made an affirmative sound in the back of his throat, and she jumped a little at the sudden feel of the wax lines scraping over her skin._

_Her teeth sank into her bottom lip to hold in a pleading whimper as his hand swept across her breasts. He circled one, and then the other, light and teasing, only enough pressure that she could feel the barest scratch against the sensitive skin._

_She leaned toward his ministrations and she heard him chuckle softly. Severus' fingers tightened on her hips, but he made no move closer to her, or to assist in the session, otherwise. Sirius tsked, lifting his other hand to tug on her nipples, in turn—alternating with the hand that held the webbing—the sliding pulls of the cool leather a sharp, sweet contrast to the rough, yet light, scratching._

_Now she_ was _trembling, she was certain of it, but she didn't care. Severus held her in position, still, and each of Sirius' ministrations caused a sweet, warm pulse between her thighs._

_One of the hands at her hips slipped away, and she let out a moan at the feel of it sliding between her thighs. As before, the tips of his gloved fingers rubbed over her twice, before he withdrew his hand for another inspection._

_"Sirius, you might not want to tease her much longer." Now he did step closer and Hermione screamed behind closed lips at the press of his body to hers. He reached around her to show the glistening black leather to the other man, acting as though he didn't notice her reaction to the way his movements caused him to push against her. "She is_ rather  _excitable today. I do not think she can take much more."_

_"I do suppose you're right, Severus," Sirius replied, though his leather-clad fingers still stroked and tugged at her nipples._

_She squirmed and writhed as the waxy lines dragged over her abdomen, tickling her navel before drawing lower. Severus hadn't moved from how close he was behind her, and as she shifted against him, a warm, tingling ran through her as she thought . . . . No, no, that wasn't possible. But it was nice to think he could be stirring to life because of the press of her body to his._

_Sirius' hand dipped between her thighs and she threw her head back, a hiccuping moan escaping her lips. He worked the bundle of smooth, rigid lines over her in circular motions, light and scraping._

_Severus held himself painfully still behind her, honestly afraid to move. She had made him hard, and he knew he was possessed of such better control than this. Regardless of what he did to tease the girls he trained, his body never responded, because he did not_ allow _it. And yet, here he was, unable to step from behind her writhing body because his cock had sprung to life, quite without his permission._

_He'd admitted only once that she aroused him—only once, and only to Sirius, during a night of particularly hard drinking—and had forced himself to think no more on the matter._

_She shivered and shuddered in his grasp, and he held her hips immobile for Sirius' ministrations._

_He could feel her body tensing against him, could feel her push up on her toes harder to make her muscles go taut faster._

_Sirius couldn't help but notice how close behind Hermione the other man stood. He held in a chuckle as he swept his free hand over her body in gentle, loving caresses while he rubbed the wax against her just a little more sharply. He had to commend the man's control. Sirius knew if_ he  _was the one standing there . . . ._

_Well, he'd promptly find himself banished as far from Solitude as the law would allow, that was for certain._

_Her eyes, dark and hazy, opened for the briefest second. Her gaze hovered over his face, and she caught the momentary glance he cast toward the man behind her._

_The man who never seemed to take as much joy from his work as Sirius did—though she felt oddly certain Severus_ must _enjoy it, as well. He was simply more practiced at hiding it. Yes, that had to be the truth of it._

_Her head fell forward and she couldn't think anymore as a sweet, tingling warmth rocked through her. She forced her body to tighten further. She pressed her hips forward, pushing closer to Sirius' stroking hand. The added pressure made her jump a little, sharpened the delicious ache tearing at her._

_But then, an_ unattractive  _sobbing noise tore out of her throat._

_Hermione froze in their embrace, horrified at the sound that had just fallen from her lips._

_Sirius' hands had stilled, his brows shooting up his forehead in surprise._

_Severus had to force himself into motion. He was shocked that such an unpleasant noise had come from_ her _. It combined strangely with the giddy delight in the back of his mind that he could now retrieve_ his _favorite instrument from the case._

_He crossed the room to the selection of tools, refusing to rush as he pulled the gleaming black paddle from its place. Severus thought for certain he could feel the weight of both their gazes upon him and, as he turned, he found he was right._

_Surely, this shouldn't be such a spectacle for Sirius—he'd witnessed the other girls being_ corrected _—yet the blue-eyed man was watching him as though this was an entirely new experience. But then, perhaps there was something new in this, Severus considered as he strode back toward them._

_Because this was_  her _, the one girl with whom they'd thought this would never occur._

_Hermione braced herself as Severus came to a halt beside her. She expected the sharp sting any moment, yet he seemed to hesitate. She started at the feel of the paddle's smooth edge dragging across her skin. It was almost sweet and teasing, the light dragging down her spine and over her bum._

_Sirius' hands, still on her all this time, moved. He didn't withdraw, as she knew he was supposed to, instead he returned to the loving caresses and almost-rough stroking between her thighs._

_Her eyes snapped open, her shocked gaze meeting his._

_One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly in the faintest hint of a wicked half-grin. He pressed his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture._

_But this was not an invisible act, surely Severus would stop Sirius' attempts to comfort and distract her. Yet, Severus continued dragging the edge of the paddle along her skin._

_All too soon, Sirius had her tensing and whimpering, again. She rocked against his strokes, her back arching, even as Severus traced over her lower back in lazy circles._

_He withdrew the paddle's edge so fast, she hadn't noticed it was gone until he brought the flat of it down on against her skin in a single, sharp swat._

_Hermione shrieked, a mingled sound of ecstasy and shock as the unexpected flash of pain brought her orgasm crashing over her. Sirius' hands kept moving over her, faster, harder, adding sweet, jagged edges to the rippling pleasure dancing through her system._

_"That's it, dearest," he whispered, the fingers of his free hand tracing her lips._

_"And once more, to serve as reminder," Severus said as he brought the paddle down a second time._

_She shrieked again, this second flash of pain causing another jolt that only seemed to intensify the sweet warmth rushing through her as she came._

_As it ebbed, and she trembled at the pulsing little aftershocks, her body sagged against the twisting wrought iron to which her fingers had clung the entire time. Sirius withdrew his hands only when she'd stilled, entirely, but Severus slipped an arm around her hips, once more, holding her so that she didn't collapse._

_"Sirius, the sheet," he said, his voice so low Hermione thought she only imagined his words._

_Nodding, Sirius crawled out from beneath her, silent as he collected the paddle from Severus and hurried to replace their instruments into the tool case. He pulled the sheet from beneath her quilt and was at her side, again._

_Severus stood and walked away as Sirius carefully wrapped the satin around her naked, still-trembling form. Before she knew, Sirius had lifted her in his arms._

_He rounded the bed with her, to where Severus had seated himself in the chair. She shook her head as Sirius stepped closer to the other man._

_"Now, now, dearest," he whispered, "it is important that Severus be the one to comfort you, as it was he who had to punish you."_

_She didn't know if that was sense or lunacy. Sirius set her in Severus' lap and she curled against him, ducking her head beneath his chin. Severus' arms circled her, and she understood with a dull realization that despite the men being fully clothed, the sheet was to prevent any accidental brushes of bare skin._

_"Be still, now," he said, the rumbling of his chest as he spoke oddly soothing to her. "No need to fear, my good girl. You made a mistake, and it was corrected."_

_She nodded, trying to control her shivering. "I am sorry to have disappointed the both of you."_

_The men exchanged a glance over her head. "On the contrary, dearest," Sirius said with a chuckle as he packed up the case and latched it shut. "All you did was prove that you're not entirely perfect, after all."_

_Severus nodded, his arms tightening around her ever so slightly. "Which is more of a comfort than one might think."_

_She fell silent, then, refusing to worry about whatever silent conversation they were having with their gazes, alone. They stayed until she was calmed, until she'd nearly fallen asleep in Severus' embrace._

_Then, Sirius had carefully extracted her from the other man, and put her in her bed. He pulled the quilt up over her and bid her pleasant dreams as they slipped out the door._

_The next morning, she'd been a bit bewildered at how very well she'd slept._

* * *

_That same night, as they retired to their quarters, Severus turned on Sirius, his lips curled back from his teeth as he barked out a reprimand. "You went too far. You are supposed to stop when I am forced to bring out the paddle, Sirius!"_

_Sirius' teeth sank into his bottom lip in thought for a moment before he answered. "You knew well what I was doing, and didn't bother to stop me. I'd say we're both to blame, then. Wouldn't you?"_

_Severus prepared another snarled comment . . . until he realized with a sick dread that Sirius was right. He could have—and should have—not allowed that, and yet he had._

_Dark brows creeping upward, he asked in a mystified tone in his voice, "We are going to have to be much more careful around her, aren't we?"_

_Puffing out his cheeks, Sirius exhaled as he nodded in reply._

* * *

Severus shook his head as he and Sirius watched their carriage pull up in front of Solitude's gilded gates. The carriage which was bringing them to Malfoy Manor, where  _she_  now resided.

This was a  _terrible_  idea.

Sirius watched his partner's expression. He knew . . . they both felt the same way. This was  _not_  a plan they should be entertaining. They should have told his dear  _cousin_  to bugger off. Yet they were going.

Perhaps that couldn't be helped, as the fear that they  _might_  run into her was outmatched by the hope that they  _would_.


	17. His Dearest

**Chapter Seventeen**

His Dearest

_Hermione found the quiet emptiness of the library comforting. She sighed, breathing in the scent of the room and stretching as she turned toward the book-lined wall behind her._

_She knew she really shouldn't be awake this early, but there was not a soul around, and she was having trouble really sleeping ever since the exams. Well, no, perhaps it was since the last training session . . . ._

_Since what she'd done with Pansy._

_A blush flooded her cheeks at the recollection and she selected a book from the shelf at random. Spinning on her heel, she took a step, only to collide with something, knocking their book from their hand._

_She bent to retrieve it, but froze when she looked up to see who's book it was._

_"Trainer Sirius," she said, an uncertain smile on her lips as she slowly rose to her feet, book in hand._

_He furrowed his brow, glancing about before ducking his head toward her and whispering with a half-smile, "We are not in training now, dearest, you needn't address me so."_

_Her heart seemed to flutter in a chest as she held his blue-grey gaze. He wanted her to call him only by his given name, and yet, he_ always _referred to her as dearest. She didn't hope to wonder if that meant something._

_"I . . . ." She licked her lips nervously and tried again. "I thought you would be cross with me."_

_His face fell into a questioning expression. "Why should I be cross with you?"_

_Biting her lip, she darted her gaze about the empty library quickly. Lowering her already whispering voice further still, she said, "Because of what Pansy and I . . . . Because of what we made you and Trainer Se—because of what we made you and Severus do."_

_His jet eyebrows shot up his forehead and he surprised her with a laugh. "Well, that was certainly a new experience, but . . . shockingly, not at all an unpleasant one."_

_"Oh," she said, unable to help a giggle in reply._

_Sirius looked to the book she'd retrieved, still clutched in her hand. "May I have that back, now, dearest?"_

_Hermione started, lifting the book. "Oh, right, sorry. I . . . ." Her lips curved up at one corner as she read the title on the cover. "Isn't the same book I was reading when I spoke to you and Severus here, last week?"_

_He shrugged, his smile coy as he said, "Who knows? So many books here, after all. As I recall, a few weeks before that you were reading a book you'd seen_ me  _with on a previous occasion."_

_She blinked rapidly as she processed their back-and-forth. Almost like they were friends. "I beg your pardon,_ Sirius. _I was curious about that book, because_  you _said it was a worthwhile read. I don't recall making a peep about this one."_

_"Peep, or no peep, perhaps I simply have faith in your taste in literature." He held out his hand. "Now, if you would?"_

_Hermione almost didn't want to give the book to him. She was enjoying the little play between them too much. But then she had no proper excuse for holding onto it any longer._

_She placed the book upon his waiting palm. But then, just as she pulled her hand from it, his fingers closed around the spine, brushing against hers as they slipped away._

_Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she held his gaze. He'd_ touched  _her! And yet . . . he didn't look taken aback, nor upset in any way. He did not open his mouth to reprimand her for being careless or clumsy with her gestures._

_He simply stared at her, and she back at him. All the while she reminded herself to breathe._

_Sirius was the first man to ever touch her. That was supposed to be a right reserved for the Prince, and yet . . . . Suddenly she became all too aware of her history with him. Not only her training, but whenever they crossed paths. Whenever they found themselves caught up in conversation._

_Of looks and smiles, comments and gestures . . . ._

_All the things that made her think he saw her as more than simply_ another  _of Solitude's girls. And then she remembered. Her examinations had already passed. He_ could _touch her, now, and no one would know._

_Dropping her own book to the floor, she shot forward, standing on her toes to press her lips to his as she slid her arms around his neck. She thrilled at the pressure of his mouth on hers as he leaned into her, as his arms circled her hips to pull her against him._

_Then he pulled his head back, his breathing harsh—though they'd done nothing to warrant the sound of exertion—but did not release her as he caught her gaze with his own. "What are you doing? We cannot—"_

_"We most certainly can," she said, her eyes bright with mischief as she smiled up at him. "Provided we don't do anything that alters my body from its examination results in anyway."_

_Sirius puzzled over how quickly she seemed to have made sense of that. Or had she thought this through before? He always wondered what he meant to her beyond what he made her feel during her training sessions, if anything at all._

_She was right, though . . . . Anything he'd already done with her during training he could do again, only with his bare hands, now . . . with his lips and tongue, with his skin pressed to hers . . . ._

_"You are too brilliant for your own good, you know that?" he asked, searching her gaze._

_She nodded, her chestnut eyes wide and deceptively innocent. "I prefer to think of that as one of my better qualities."_

_He lowered his mouth toward hers, once more, but then seemed to think better on it. "Just as a precaution," he whispered as he whisked her behind a stand of shelves, hiding any view of them from anyone who might happen into the library on that very early, very quiet morning._

_They had all they could do to restrain their laughter when Mother Rosmerta swept in a short while later, grumbling about disrespectful habits as she scooped up the dropped books and re-shelved them before walking away again._

_The following afternoon, Hermione walked down a vacant corridor toward the door to the gardens. Her nose stuck in yet another book, she never glimpsed the figure at the other end dart around a shadowed bend in the passage._

_As she stepped passed it, she heard a whispering voice. Pausing mid-stride, she barely had time to turn her head toward the sound as a gentle hand slid around her elbow and pulled her back, into the darkened nook around the corridor's corner._

_She held in a delighted squeal to find her back pressed to the wall as Sirius stood before her. He lowered his head, grazing his teeth over her earlobe. Curling her fingers into his long, dark hair, her eyelids fluttered and she whispered his name in a shivering, ecstatic breath._

_The length of her dress was around her hips in a blink, and she bit back a moan at the feel of his_ bare  _fingertips between her thighs._

_He lifted his head to watch her expression as she rocked her hips, working herself against his hand. Sirius loved watching that hazy look flood her eyes, and knowing it had nothing to do with that wretched incense._

_"Aren't you afraid?" she whispered, surprised she could speak at all._

_He had no idea how she expected him to answer with her hands wandering over his hardened cock through the fabric of his trousers, but he struggled to focus. "Afraid of what? Being caught? Oh, dearest, I would_ gladly _suffer the cruelest of punishments for these moments."_

_Even despite what they were already doing, she blushed. He was making her wish she never had to set foot outside of Solitude's walls. "I mean . . . what about Severus? If he catches us—"_

_"You think he would cause us trouble?" Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, Sirius tipped his head to one side as he worked his fingers a bit harder against her._

_She pressed her face to the side of his throat, stifling a moan._

_"I know he seems the type," he whispered as she tensed in his embrace, "but he would actually be more likely to want to join us."_

_Her body stilled, her hands clutching helplessly at wall behind her._

_"That's it, dearest, come for me," he whispered, once more nibbling and suckling at her earlobe as his rubbing fingertips carried her through her orgasm._

_As it ebbed, and she began rocking her pelvis against his motions, the sweet aftershocks pulsing through her, his words about the other man floated back through her foggy mind. She found his words difficult to comprehend._

_"Severus . . . ." She caught her breath, as he raised his head to meet her gaze. "Severus would want to . . . ?"_

_Sirius arched a brow, looking about cautiously as she unfastened his trousers and slipped her hand inside to grasp his cock. His eyes drifted closed as he shuddered at the touch of her skin against him._

_His lids lifting slowly, he once more met her eyes as he nodded. "Now, now, dearest, do you believe I am the only one who fancies you?"_

_Hermione continued to puzzle over this in a corner of her mind, even as she worked her fist over him, as she leaned into him to graze her teeth playfully along the pulse in his throat._

_Later Mother Fleur—always aware of the fashions and tastes of everyone in Solitude, as she oversaw the house elf seamstress—said, "Forgive me, Sir, but were you not wearing different trousers this morning?"_

_Hermione bit into her palm to hold in her laughter as he came up with some utterly ridiculous, fabricated response to satisfy her inquiry._

* * *

_Severus arched a brow, looking over the top of the periodical open in his hands. There she was, watching him, again. It seemed that every time he saw her over the span of the last two days, she'd suddenly taken to observing him like some gallery display._

_Some of the girls did that sometimes, but never her. Yet now . . . ._

_Now, each time he caught her gaze as she watched him, she started and immediately found the floor, sky, or wall beside her so fascinating that it called for her undivided attention._

_By now, he'd had enough of her sudden, mind-boggling interest. Hermione jumped, stopped from looking for a hiding place only by her proper training—which she'd wildly ignored in watching him so blatantly, as it was—as he snapped the periodical closed and set it on the garden bench, his gaze on hers all the while._

_He stood and walked directly to her. Yet, as he reached her, those wide chestnut eyes staring up at him gave him pause._

_After a moment of silently reprimanding himself, he asked, "What is it about me that has you suddenly so very fascinated that you cannot stop staring?"_

_"I . . . I . . . ." Hermione shook her head. She hadn't meant to stare,_ again _, but Sirius' words were still bouncing about in her head, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering if it could be true. "I am sorry, I can't say."_

_"Can you not, now?"_

_Sirius walked along the garden path just then and her guilty, apologetic gaze shot to him, immediately. Sirius caught her look, halting as he looked from her to Severus, and back._

_Following her eyeline, Severus found himself looking at the other man._

_"What did you_ say _?" Severus asked, his tone accusatory and venomous._

_Looking around, Sirius confirmed no one else was about. He walked over to them, pointedly holding Severus' gaze as he reached out his hand, trailing his bare fingers along the side of Hermione's throat._

_Her eyelids fluttered and she leaned into his touch._

_Severus watched the interaction, the realization dawning._

_"I told her only the truth," Sirius said._

_Severus looked from the girl, to the other man, and back. An exasperated expression skittered across his features._

_"Oh, bloody hell," he said in a hissing whisper as he slid a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. His mouth crashing down on hers, Hermione uttered a pleading whimper, parting her lips for his plunging tongue as she clung to him, her fingers curling into his jacket._

_After a few moments of caressing his tongue with her own, of nipping at it—a little harder than she might do with Sirius, but she had the oddest feeling that was right for_ Severus _—and leaning forward to press her body to his, she broke the kiss. She met his gaze as they both caught their breath._

_"I'm a selfish girl," she whispered as she looked at them in turn. "Horribly selfish, because I . . . I fancy you both, I can't help it. I've tried not to feel this way, I swear it!"_

_Severus, unable to hold himself back from keeping them all grounded in reality, cupped her face in his hands, shaking his head as he said, "It hardly matters. Neither of us can ever be an option for you. And, in a few short days, we will no longer be part of your life, at all."_

_Sirius lowered his gaze to the pebbled walkway beneath their feet, unable to look at Hermione as tears welled in her eyes._

_But she surprised them both._

_"I know," she said, her whispered voice surprisingly strong. "I know that too well, Severus. So_ please, _can't you let me just have this?"_

_Feeling a fist wrap around his heart, he nodded, unable to find an argument anymore as he bent his head toward hers, once again._

* * *

Sirius swallowed a hard lump in his throat as the carriage rolled to a stop before the imposing gates of Malfoy Manor.

He exchanged a glance with Severus. The dark-eyed man simply shook his head, sighing heavily as the driver opened the door and he climbed out.


	18. Unexpected Gifts

**Chapter Eighteen**

Unexpected Gifts

Hermione was nearly certain days ticked by, not hours, as she and Master Draco chatted with his grandfather. Despite how lovely their side-trip to the statuary had been, she was in dread of arriving at Black Estate. Would Lord Cygnus Black be cross with them for their late arrival? Would he dislike something about Hermione's appearance, or feel her stringent schooling in etiquette and social graces not strict enough to suit his tastes?

Would he be half as intolerable as Master Draco and Master Lucius made him seem?

On the contrary, the distinguished, iron-haired aristocrat led them through his home, and the surrounding grounds, on a tour. Since Master Draco was already so aware of the Estate's luxuries and nuances that at points he mouthed the words with a tiny, side-to-side nod of his head, as his grandfather spoke, she could only assume the guided stroll was for  _her_ benefit.

Ignoring, of course, that the face he made as he mimicked his grandfather forced Hermione to bite her lip to hold back a giggle more than once.

He was sociable enough, bordering on polite, though in the most oddly coarse way. Lord Black, however, proved himself a man possessed of strong opinions, which she could only imagine—combined with his sharpness—made it simple for those close to him, accustomed to his seemingly-prickly demeanor, to see him in a less than forgiving light.

Shortly after tea, Master Draco announced that with such a long ride, they would need to depart if they were to return to the Manor in time for dinner. Hermione felt something from him, then. A nervous ripple, was it? She couldn't be certain.

Watching his expression, she placed her hand in his as she rose from her seat. He _appeared_  calm, but still she could detect a distracted air about him.

Had she misspoken at any point? Frowning, she merely tried to catch his gaze as she puzzled over it; she didn't recall making any missteps which might reflect poorly on him in the older gentleman's eyes.

As she opened her mouth to speak, he finally noticed her look, asking before she could get the words out. "Pet? What's the matter?"

"Oh, um . . . ." Caught off-guard, she cleared her throat and shook her head. "Nothing, Master Draco. I was wondering, perhaps, if you are feeling all right?"

Draco's brows shot upward. Of course, he'd been stewing quietly about this . . . this right bloody nightmare with his uncles the entire time they'd been there, but he could hardly tell her that. He didn't favor the idea of lying to her, and given how twisted up his stomach was at that moment, feigning illness was a mere stretching of the truth, when compared to the flat-out falsehood of _pretending_ he'd forgotten something to discuss with Grandfather.

He hated this. Hated every second and every breath of it, but Father was right. If she cared for Sirius and Severus even half as much as she seemed to care for the Malfoys—and if those two cared for her anywhere near as much as he and Father did—she deserved something more with them than whatever memories Solitude had left her.

"I'm actually  _not_  all right," he said, forcing a weak smile onto his lips. "My stomach . . . . I think, perhaps, I'd better rest here for a bit."

"I'll stay with you." She raised a hand, cupping his cheek.

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, Draco shook his head. Damn. There she went, responding exactly as he wanted her to, again. Slipping a hand up over hers, he smiled a little more sincerely. "If we both miss dinner, Father would be quite displeased. Besides, it's his night anyway. No bother if I get in late, is it?"

"You mean for me to return alone?"

She looked so disheartened he actually thought he was in pain over it. Sighing, he forced himself to keep at the charade. "It would hardly do for me to be ill in the carriage, now would it?"

Dropping her hand from his face, she noted with delight that he moved with her, his fingers still covering hers as their arms fell. "I suppose not, but if Mr. Goyle has to take me home and then turn around . . . ." She darted her gaze out the nearest window. "It'll be nightfall by the time he arrives to get you and it's a  _dangerous_  night to be on the road."

Draco's shoulders slumped. He'd  _completely_ forgotten it was the first night of the full moon. The creatures of their neighboring city, Mount Beacon, usually kept to themselves, but ever since Voldemort's campaign had begun, it seemed the boundaries separating the lands had become imaginary lines, at best.

Who knew what lurked in the forests these days?

"He will simply have to stay the night, then." Hermione and Draco both turned to see Lord Black hovering in the parlor entrance.

"It would not inconvenience you?" she asked, her tone uncertain.

The elder gentleman pinned his grandson with a soured expression as he answered the girl's question. "No more an inconvenience than unexpectedly having to wait two hours for you to arrive."

Wincing, Hermione dropped her head. Biting into her lip, she nodded.

"Well," Draco said, shrugging. "That was hardly our fault. Fallen tree in the road, rotten timing, all that."

His gaze darting from his grandson, to the girl, and back, the old man shook his head as he exhaled sharply from his nostrils. Honestly, some days it was as though young people forgot that their elders had been young once, too.

* * *

Hermione stared out the carriage window, her gaze tracing over the distant, hilly peaks of Mount Beacon's landscape. The citizens of Godric's Hollow did not speak much of the other lands. Mount Beacon, because too many had lost family to it—a single bite and suddenly Mount Beacon's population rose by one while that of Godric's Hollow fell by one.

Devil's Landing . . . . Well, that seemed self-explanatory. Old superstitions said ridiculous things about the magic there, as though to speak of it meant the dark things who resided there could hear one's voice. Though, not a single person seemed willing to test how much of those superstitions might hold true by gossiping about the demon city.

And finally, Star Home— Stjarnaheim, as the elders called it. No one spoke of it, because still no one was quite certain what had actually happened there. Though many referred to it as The Sleeping Kingdom, nobody Hermione had ever encountered seemed to know anything beyond that title, so many stories of what and why abounded.

But it was the first of the three to which Hermione's mind sometimes wandered. She'd barely kept herself from thinking on it after she'd encountered Fleur in the marketplace.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she sat back from the window.

"Pansy," she said with a sigh that was equal parts heavy and wistful.

* * *

_"Eyes away," Trainer Severus said, his tone sharp._

_Pansy and Hermione each dropped their gazes from the men before them. They looked off to one side, seemingly examining the waist-high water in which they all stood, even as their trainers held their chins tilted up with the sponges in their hands, still._

_"There, you see, Severus?" Sirius shook his head. Hermione could tell from his tone that he was smiling. "We have done_ quite _well with these two."_

_"Is that so?" In a distracted gesture, Severus drew the sponge downward. Currently dry, the coarse surface scraped and scratched at Hermione's skin. As it brushed over one nipple, she shivered, but kept her gaze averted. Even as a blush flooded her cheeks._

_"We_ shall _see," he concluded, waiting._

_Sensing the prompting in his words, the girls' voices mingled as they asked in unison, "What would you have of us?"_

_Sirius grinned, patting a hand behind them, where the lip of the in-ground tub met the pearl-tiled floor. "Up."_

_Each nodding, the girls retreated from their trainers just a little, pulling themselves to sit on the ledge at their backs._

_"Lie back," Severus said in that beautiful voice of his. "Heels on the ledge, legs parted."_

_Hermione held in a shudder. Whenever he was so direct in his instructions, she felt a giddy little bloom of warmth in her belly._

_They both moved to follow Trainer Severus' directions, each finding themselves staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling._

_Hermione started at the first sweep of the dampened sponge across her thigh. Severus traced the inside of one leg—from her ankle, to her knee, and then gliding downward from her knee to her inner thigh._

_She tensed in anticipation of the first stroke against her, but he withdrew. Only when she made an impatient jerking motion with her hips did he return, sweeping the sponge up, and then down her other leg. This time, he brushed between her thighs ever so gently, only to retreat, again._

_She made dissatisfied mewling noise in the back of her throat, and heard Pansy echo her sentiment. Cautiously, she flicked her gaze over—for only the briefest second—to see that Sirius was teasing the dark-haired girl in the same fashion._

_Some days she simply didn't know if she adored their trainers, or loathed them._

_The sponge settled between her thighs, then. She tensed beneath it, lifting her hips to meet the pressure of Severus' hand. He moved in slow, shallow bursts, her own motions as she rocked beneath the sponge doing most of the work._

_Honestly, some days their bodies were teased so thoroughly a mere brush of their trainers' instruments brought them to orgasm. In sessions such as this one, however, they had to work for it. Just as with her trainers, Hermione didn't know if she loved that, or hated it._

_Pressing her shoulders harder against the floor at her back, she braced her palms on the tile, giving herself leverage. Biting hard into her bottom lip, she closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on her motions. On the rocking of her pelvis and the sweet pressure of the sponge rubbing against her._

_She could hear the sound of her own voice, oddly distant to her own ears as her moans rumbled up from the back of her throat. Warm, tingling pulses rushed through her._

_Suddenly, Trainer Severus was speaking, coaxing her—she nearly stopped in shock, he didn't coax. He admonished, he instructed. "That's it, my good girl. Just a little more," he said, the tone of his murmuring voice like a purr._

_Choking out a pleading whimper, Hermione nodded, rocking harder beneath his hand. She raised up on her toes, lifting her hips high to press herself even more tightly against his strokes._

_A shudder rocked through her as her muscles tensed and she felt the first delicious ripples of her orgasm crash through her._

_Fingers landed over her own then. Startled, but still dazed she forced her eyes open and looked down. Pansy's hand was curled over hers._

_Turning her head, even as she shivered and let out an ecstatic gasp, she met the other girl's eyes. Rotating her wrist, Hermione laced her fingers with Pansy's._

_She clung to Pansy's hand, holding her gaze as they came. They seemed to breathe at the same moments, echoing each other's cries, mimicking one another's motions as their orgasms ebbed and they began to move beneath their trainers' hands, once more._

_Sweet little aftershocks tore through her, but still Pansy held to her hand, and Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from the other girl's. Even after they were both spent, all but collapsing against the floor._

_She was certain she heard Sirius and Severus, after commending them on a session well done, discussing whether or not to admonish them for the action. But she couldn't seem to concentrate on their voices._

_After she and Pansy caught their breath and the muscles in their legs regained a bit of strength, they finally untangled their fingers. But even so, as they sat up and slid back into the water, as they finished bathing and climbed from the tub to towel off—as they wrapped themselves in their dressing gowns and finally turned toward the door to exit—they continued watching one another._

_Pansy's gaze floated through Hermione's mind as she drifted off to bed that night. So strange it was, she thought, that she suddenly thought she really was going to miss that awful girl so much she might burst into tears over it._

* * *

Hermione sniffled, wiping at her cheek as the carriage rolled to a stop. Letting out a shuddering breath and squaring her shoulders, she smiled brightly as Mr. Goyle came around and opened the door for her.

Taking his offered hand, she stepped out. "Thank you, Mr. Goyle," she said, barely aware she'd spoken as her gaze traced over the Manor's entryway.

* * *

"Master Lucius?"

Sirius felt his heart slam against his ribcage at the sound of her voice echoing through the cavernous house. He exchanged a panicked glance with an instantly wrathful Severus. They turned as one to look at Lucius.

The pale-haired man sat, still, in his arm chair. His expression was as bored as usual as he swirled his drink in his hand. Finally, he met their gazes, in turn.

"What have you done?" Severus demanded—the only thing keeping him from barging across the sitting room to tear Lucius' head off was Sirius' restraining hand circling his elbow.

"In here, Pet," Lucius called out as he set down his glass and stood.

Sirius bit hard into his bottom lip as he dropped his head down against Severus's shoulder.

"What I have done," Lucius went on as he stepped to the door, "believe it or not, is simply plan a gift for my pet."

They each watched him as he crossed the room, gaping in disbelief.

A knock sounded at the door. "May I enter?" Hermione's voice filtered into the room.

"Just a moment, Pet." He grasped the doorknob, but kept his gaze on them, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You gave yourselves away when I asked who trained her."

At that, Sirius couldn't help but scowl at the other dark-haired man. After all, it was one of Severus' angry outbursts that had been so very telling.

Lucius opened the door, a painful clenching in his chest at the sight of the smiling girl standing there.

"I'm terribly sorry, Master Lucius, but it looks like it will be just you and I for dinner, as . . . Master . . . Draco . . . ." Her voice died slowly and her smile faded as she looked past Master Lucius.

Tears pinged in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened. They stared back at her in silence, each appearing at a total loss for words.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she ignored the stinging in the tip of her nose as she said, "Master Lucius, I don't understand."

A barely noticeable smile plucked up the corners of his mouth as he crooked a finger beneath her chin, returning her attention to him. "I offer you this single night as a gift. Take it."

Blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay, she understood. Standing on her toes, she leaned forward, kissing him softly. "Thank you, Master Lucius."

She couldn't help but turn, watching him as he slipped out the door and closed it behind him. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, feeling their gazes on her.

A tear slipped fear and she smiled. Her heart hammering in her chest and her stomach twisting in giddy knots, she pivoted on her heel to face them.

* * *

Mr. Goyle bolted upright from where he'd been hunched over the carriage, cleaning something from one of the wheels. He'd not expected Lord Malfoys' abrupt appearance at the Manor entrance.

Hurrying around the carriage to open the door, he said in a hushed tone. "Where to, sir?"

"A pub . . . a tavern. Any will do, I should think."

Snapping his head around, the driver looked to the darkening sky. "But, sir, it's the first night of the full moon."

Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes. This was one night he thought perhaps he would not mind the idea of sleeping in a rented room in some tavern. "Then let's go  _quickly_ , shall we?"


	19. His Good Girl

**Chapter Nineteen**

His Good Girl

Smiling, Sirius was across the room and standing before her in a heartbeat. He shook his head as he wiped away that lone droplet with gentle fingertips.

"No tears for us, Dearest," he said in a murmur. Blue-grey eyes drifting closed, he pressed his forehead to hers. "For this night, you're ours. We must make the best memory we can of it."

Pulling back enough to meet his gaze, Hermione reached up, unable to help herself from tracing his lips with the tip of her finger. This didn't feel real. His closeness, the texture of his skin beneath her touch, his voice in her ear . . . .

And yet . . . .

"If that's so," she whispered, pausing to force a gulp down her throat, "why does it seem only one of you is pleased to see me?"

Shoulders slumping, Sirius looped an arm around her waist and turned to look at Severus. The other man's face was cast downward, eyes closed and his teeth biting deep into his bottom lip as he shook his head, over and over.

"That is not what this is," he said, his voice so low Hermione just barely heard him. "I have prepared myself for a great many things in this world . . . . The chance that we would see you again was  _not_  among them."

She felt a fist grip her heart, even as Sirius pressed a kiss to her temple. "Then, Severus, are you saying you don't wish to be here, now?"

His head dropping back, Severus let out a groan. Crossing the room, he slid his arms around her, pulling her close to plunge his tongue between her lips.

He remembered this too well. The feel of her body against his, the weight of her in his embrace, the teasing way she scraped the very edge of her teeth along his tongue.

Breaking the kiss, he met her gaze unblinkingly. "I am saying that I do not see how one night could  _ever_  be enough."

She felt fingers moving against her head and looked over her shoulder. Sirius was tugging the beaded pins from her hair, allowing the wild, golden-brown mass to tumble down her back and around her shoulders.

He made a show of sweeping the tip of his tongue across his lips before he said, "We always preferred you this way."

Grinning at the blush that flooded her cheeks, he tucked a lock behind her ear and kissed the side of her throat. Her eyes drifted shut and she tilted her head away, offering more of her skin for him to taste.

His fingers worked at the silk lace at the back of her dress—the sort Master Lucius fancied. She knew well it was so she could feel the stroke of his leather-gloved fingertips against her skin when he undressed her. Now, too, she found herself rolling her shoulders, curving her back into the touch as Sirius' hands caressed and brushed.

Her head tipped back against his shoulder as his lips traveled upward, closing around her earlobe. She didn't even realize he'd started to inch her dress lower, that her breasts were bared, now.

Until she felt the swirling, teasing flick of Severus' tongue around her nipple. He cupped her other breast in his hand, pinching roughly at the sensitive skin.

She moaned behind clenched teeth, blindly sinking her fingers into his hair to cradle his head against her as he drew on her harder. As he delicately raked his teeth over the soft bit of dusty-rose flesh.

Before she knew it, Sirius had pushed her dress down to pool around her feet. She couldn't help leaning back against his solid frame, even as a chuckle rumbled out of him. He was almost hoping for some complicated undergarment—more teasing, stroking touches, more anticipation—but he supposed to the lack of was just as well.

Robbed of what little presentation that would have added, instead he ran his hand down along her thigh. His fingers circled her knee before he lifted her leg and held it aside, exposing her to the man before her.

Hermione shivered, pulling in a trembling breath as Severus, acutely aware of the change in position, stepped back from her. His gaze roamed over her and she was both riveted and shocked to see color tint his cheeks.

Biting his lip, he moved closer again. He slid his fingers between her parted thighs, delighting as she shuddered. Severus stroked back and forward, once, twice, and then withdrew his hand.

_Just like he used to . . . ._  For the briefest moment, her mind skittered backward, to their training sessions. To the way his gaze danced over his glove whenever he tested her. He always looked like a gluttonous man watching a dessert tray, she thought.

Meeting her eyes, he held up his hand, the tips of his fingers glistening. "My good girl," he said, speaking in that gravely murmur she remembered so well. "It seems you are already quite aroused."

She could feel the air moving in and out of her lungs as she stared back at him. There had never been anything more real than the sensation of her skin brushing the fabric of Sirius' clothes behind her as her body moved with her inhalations, or the warmth rushing into her face as she waited for what the dark-eyed man would do next.

Severus slipped his fingers into his mouth, holding her gaze all the while as he sucked at them before allowing them to slip free, once more. "Now," he said, his voice no more than a rumbling whisper, "what do you suppose we should do about that?"

"What would you have of me, Severus?" She tried not to tremble any harder than she already was in Sirius' patient hold.

Those jet eyes a bit hazy, he spoke so that his breath ghosted warm across her lips. "Oh, my good girl . . . . I would have you come for me."

Hermione didn't know which was the greater cause of the gasp that tore out of her, in that moment—Severus speaking so, or the way he dropped to his knees before them. She felt his fingers against her for only the briefest moment as he parted her further.

He nestled his mouth between her thighs, lapping and suckling at the sweet little bundle of nerves there. He was aware of nothing but the taste of her beneath his tongue, and the feel of her delicate fingers gripping into his hair, holding him to her.

She dropped her head, unable to help herself from watching him. Her breath caught in her throat, even as the sweeping of his tongue sent delicious ripples through her, to find his dark eyes on hers while he feasted on her.

She couldn't take it. Holding his gaze as he moved his head—changing the pressure of his mouth against her just enough to draw a little scream out of her—was too much. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against Sirius' shoulder, once more.

All the while, Sirius held back. His free hand had circled her to cup one of her breast and knead it gently. He seemed perfectly content with the lazy kisses he brushed over the side of her throat.

The words tumbled from her lips before she even realized she was asking, "Are you not—?" She cut herself off, gasping as Severus nipped at her. Catching a gulp of air, she tried again. "Are you not interested in joining us?"

Lifting his head, he smirked. He lifted her up onto her toes, forcing her muscles to tense for Severus. "Oh, Dearest," he whispered, "I am very much interested. But, as it turns out . . . ." He paused, enjoying the way she tensed further against him, so that fine shivers ran through her body.

"We did once discuss this very scenario." He leaned down, biting at her bottom lip as a stuttering breath escaped her. "We simply never thought it would happen."

Sirius' words bounced around Hermione's head, even as she gripped her fingers tighter in Severus' hair. He sealed his lips around the little bead of flesh, sucking and working it with the tip of his tongue until she cried out, her stilled form trembling under his ministrations.

Severus guided her through her orgasm, easing the pressure of his mouth, slowing the stroking of his tongue, only when she collapsed backward against Sirius. A violent shiver tore through her as she rocked her hips, working herself against his mouth until the last sweet aftershock had left her.

He sat back on his heels. Catching his breath, he met her gaze as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Sirius relinquished his hold on her leg and took her hand in his. Walking around her, he assisted her to step fully out of the dress that had still been around one dainty, slippered foot.

"What now?" she asked, the loveliest haze in her chestnut eyes.

Severus rose up just enough to continue undressing. He knew she was trying not to stare, that her training was rearing its head, telling her she shouldn't. But he only continued watching her as she watched him.

Her gaze traveled over lean, pale muscles and the faintest sprinkling of dark hair across his chest and down his abdomen. Back in Solitude, they were not allowed to observe their trainers so shamelessly, giving her no real opportunity before to appreciate the sight.

"On your knees, my good girl," he said, standing to push his trousers down over his hips and to the floor.

Hermione bit her lip at the sight of his hardened cock. She wondered for a split-second if it was painful to be restrained in his trousers like that.

Sirius guided her to kneel with her back to Severus, her palms braced against the floor. The blue-eyed man sat before her, as though he intended to merely observe.

Severus was on her sooner than she expected, one hand gripping into the hair at the back of her head to hold her still for him as the other moved into her teasingly. Groaning, she tried to push back against his fingers.

He tutted at her, an un-Severus-like chuckle following the sound. "So eager, are you?"

"Absolutely," she said, her voice a breathless whisper.

Sparing a second to position himself, he thrust his hips forward, burying his cock inside her. Hermione threw her head back, screaming as her body clenched around his entry.

Severus paused, allowing a tremor to rock through him. He'd honestly never imagined they'd get to have this moment. The way she fit around him, the way she shivered against him as she waited was simply _too_ perfect.

Hermione arched her back, lifting her hips for him. He was just taking far too bloody long, now!

Giving into her, he slammed his hips forward and pulled back so far he nearly withdrew from her, entirely.

"Oh,  _gods_ ," she said from between clenched teeth. That stroke was  _perfect_. But now he was halting again. "Don't worry if you're hurting me. You're not . . . ." Meeting Sirius' surprised gaze in front of her, she shook her head as best she could with Severus holding her hair. "Well, it hurts a little, but it just feels  _too_ good.  _Please_ , Severus, keep going!"

Biting hard into his bottom lip, he nodded. He gripped the fingers of his free hand around her hip and thrust forward once more. Once more, she shrieked, but the sound ended in an ecstatic moan as he withdrew and slammed into her, again and again.

Hermione shuddered, unable to stop her eyes from drifting closed on Sirius' attentive gaze. Her body jerked forward a little with each thrust, and she could feel herself shiver ever so slightly each time his cock slid from her. Each stroke was edged with the sweetest hint of pain, only enough that it added to the tingling warmth washing through her.

She forced her eyes open to find Sirius gone, but then something brushed the back of her arms. Dazed as little mewling sounds of pleasure fell from her lips, she looked down.

Sirius was on his back, having scooted beneath her on the floor. He winked at her before his eyes drifted shut and he closed his lips around one of her nipples.

She gasped, the teasing flicking of his tongue over the delicate skin a sharp contrast to Severus' jarring thrusts. She wasn't certain how much her body could take.

And then she felt Sirius' fingertips move between her thighs. He rubbed in quick circles, matching the speed of Severus' motions.

Her body tensed so fast in response she started shaking. Gods, they just wanted her to explode, didn't they?

"Go on, my good girl," Severus said, that gorgeous voice spilling out from behind clenched teeth. "Come for us, again."

She didn't need the prompt, but she adored hearing him speak that way. Pushing her body just a little more, she froze, unable to go any further.

Hermione nearly sobbed, suddenly fearful that she  _couldn't_ come for them again.

But then Sirius pressed his fingertips against her harder.

She threw her head back, a wordless scream escaping her as her orgasm crashed over her. She wanted to move, wanted to press back against Severus and make his deliciously sharp thrusts sink deeper, but she simply couldn't.

As though he understood, he released his hold on her hair to grasp her hips with both hands. He pulled her back against him in time with his motions, which were becoming sharper, still, but also erratic and jerking.

Sirius let her breast slip from his mouth and she lowered her elbows to the floor as her orgasm ebbed, shifting for Severus even more.

He was groaning unintelligibly, his thrusts frenzied now. The way she moved for him, how she clenched and quivered around his cock . . . .  _Gods_ , he couldn't hold back anymore.

He slammed forward in one final, wonderfully violent motion and Hermione couldn't help the way she moaned in response. She wondered if she sounded like some greedy succubus, even while she rocked her hips forward and back, sliding herself around his cock as he came.

He guided her, still, using his hands on her to slow her movements by increments until he'd spent himself, entirely.

Severus withdrew and sat back. He pulled her with him, guiding the trembling girl to curl up in his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he caught his breath.

With trembling motions, she turned her head to meet Sirius's gaze.

Sirius winked at her again, standing and dusting himself off. For a flickering moment, she feared he'd walk away from them.

She was exhausted just now, but the bulge straining visibly against his trousers made her  _positive_  she'd catch a second wind shortly.

He pivoted on his heel and she couldn't stop herself from speaking up. "Sirius, where are you going?"

He glanced back at her, smiling reassuringly. "To fetch you something to drink." Sirius turned away again, continuing across the room. "You're  _going_  to need it."


	20. Lucius & Liquor

**Chapter Twenty**

Lucius & Liquor

Lucius strode through the tavern door, oblivious to the stares he received. He waved Goyle away—off to drink, or gamble, or whatever it was servants did with their free time—and continued on toward the farthest possible table. Against the back wall, out of the bright lantern light in the center of the room, he sat.

He shrugged out of his heavy black velvet cloak and propped his elbows against the tabletop. Clasping his hands in front of his mouth, he turned his unblinking gaze toward the bar.

The barkeep jumped in place, noticing the Lord's unhappy attention. Nudging the girl beside him, he nodded toward the back table.

Katie turned to look before hurrying over, wide-eyed. "L—Lord Malfoy," she said with a quick bow of her head. "What an unexpected surprise. What would you like?"

For a long moment, he remained silent, only pinning her with his gaze. Just until she squirmed uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny. Gaining some small satisfaction from that, he sat back with a sigh.

Nodding to himself, he muttered his request in a bored tumble of words, "The largest  _possible_  glass of the most expensive thing you have." Gods willing, he'd be left in peace to crawl into the bottom of that glass and not have to come back out until morning.

"Certainly, My Lord," Katie said as she once more gave a little nod and made her way back to the bar.

Lucius let out a breath, shaking his head as he rested his chin in his palm. He was perfectly aware, from the corner of his eye, of the barkeep's shocked expression. Of the way he took a good, long look at  _Lord Malfoy's_  dejected posture and set a large glass and a full bottle of amber liquid on a tray.

Her features were pinched in question as she brought the tray across the floor. Setting the glass down, she poured the liquor for him before placing the bottle down beside it.

"Mr. Slughorn thought the large glass, alone, might not be enough, My Lord," she muttered in apology.

Nodding, a small, mirthless grin curved the corners of Lucius' mouth. It was hardly an insult to tell someone who _knew_ they appeared troubled that they could probably do with a good drink, or two, or ten, now was it?

Fishing a hefty Note from inside his jacket pocket, he set it on the tray. "Tell Mr. Slughorn that I thank him for his keen observation."

Katie's jaw dropped as she picked up the Note and turned it over in her fingers. "Would—would you like ch—?"

"Keep it," he said, waving one hand dismissively as he picked up his glass with the other.

Lucius polished off the first serving in a long, steady series of gulps, reaching for the bottle again even as he set the glass down. Watching the liquid slosh against the crystal sides as he poured was not as distracting a he'd hoped.

His shoulders drooped as he knocked back the second serving. He was trying very hard not to think about what he'd invited to happen in his own home.

Honestly, he could have seen to it that their paths never crossed, he  _had_  that power! Instead, he'd actually seen to it that they met . . . even gave them the night to themselves.

Ice churned in the pit of his stomach, all the sharper in contrast to the burning alcohol he was consuming. He  _feared_. And Lucius Malfoy was not a man who acknowledged his fears often, yet the notion playing in the back of his mind that he might arrive home tomorrow morning to find the Manor empty . . . .

That he might return to find Hermione had escaped her life as the Malfoy Pet to run off with her former trainers—whom she  _clearly_  loved—was more than enough to fill him with dread. How would he explain to Draco the absolutely  _spectacular_  backfire of the gift he'd sought to give her?

He shook his head at his own thoughts as he poured himself a third round. How had it come to this? When he'd brought her home a few months ago, he'd been in complete control, and now this? When exactly had  _this_ started?

But no, he bit his lip as he stared into his glass. Draco, as well; as though she had them under a spell. Sirius and Severus, too, it would seem, as they were supposed to have had control over her during her life in Solitude, and he knew well they were probably catering to her every whim at this very moment.

He drained the glass again, and as he set it down, he saw he was no longer alone at his table.

Lucius frowned, blinking hard as he looked from the person sitting across from him, to the glass, and back. Yes, the glass was rather large, and his lips were a bit fuzzy, but he doubted he'd already imbibed so much that he could conjure up a hallucination.

Yet, as his gaze moved over her—the petite frame, the long pale-gold hair, the enormous dark-blue eyes—he realized he'd seen her before.

"You are the girl from the auction house, are you not?"

Nodding, Luna pursed her lips. "Forgive the intrusion on your evening," she said, surprising him as she set down a glass of her own and snatched up the bottle, pouring them each a drink, quite without his permission. "But we  _must_  speak."

He watched in a strange sort of fascination as she picked up her glass and took a hearty swallow. The thing was nearly bigger than she was!

Brow furrowing, Lucius shook his head. "Why are you here rather than home with your masters on such a dangerous evening?"

"Oh," she started with a shrug as she shifted, dropping the silver cloak from her shoulders to reveal a simple gold slip-dress. "I knew this morning I'd have to be here for this chat with you, so I've been waiting in my room for hours, now."

Before he could repeat the first part of his question, she gestured toward the upper floor of the tavern. "Master Fred and Master George let me take nights to myself every so often so I can tend to matters that draw the attention of my Gift."

Taking a long swig of his drink, Lucius let his curious expression ask for him.

She nodded to his silent inquiry. "I predict things, Sir."

"Ah." He set down his glass and couldn't help but smile at the Weasleys' ingenuity—buying a psychic pet to help in an auction house. Stroke of genius, that. "And what, pray tell, was it you and I need to discuss so _very_ much, my dear little one?"

She beamed at being taken seriously. True the man was bordering on drunk, but still, it  _was_  nice to not be brushed aside. "You may call me Luna, Sir."

Waving a hand as he picked up his glass again, he realized it was likely the alcohol talking as he said, "And then, I suppose for the duration of this chat, you may call me Lucius."

Her eyebrows shot up and she grinned. "May I, now? Thank you!" Taking another sip of her drink, she then folded her hands on the table and cleared her throat. "All right then, Lucius, we need to talk about Hermione."

Lucius sputtered into his glass and set it down, staring at her. Hadn't that been the very last thing he'd wanted to think about—let  _alone_  discuss—tonight?

Then he remembered that first discussion in the Manor—the names of his pet's Sisters. "Ah," he said, nodding as he set down his glass and carefully wiped the corners of his mouth. "If your concern is that we are not treating your Sister well, then, Luna, I can assure you—"

"No assurances necessary," she murmured, holding up a hand. "I am aware you two all but worship Hermione, in your own way."

Lucius insisted to himself that he was  _far_  too old for blushing at the sentiment being stated aloud.

"No," she said again, leaning across the table a bit as she dropped her voice lower, still. "This is about Voldemort."

His heart thumped against his ribcage. He took a moment to drain the rest of his drink in one go, and then met her gaze steadily. "Tell me."

Her delicate brows drawing up her forehead, she looked from him to the glass, and back. Reaching a hand across the table, she slid the bottle out of his reach. He set his jaw, frowning, but she only answered his unhappy expression with a slight sideways tilt of her head—like something a small bird might do.

"You can't let Voldemort have this meeting he seeks with her."

Lucius repressed the urge to scowl as he shook his head.  _Some_  spot-on Gift that was. "I have no intention of letting that go through. But, as it stands now, if he demands it, I do not have the power to—"

She again reached across the table, cutting into his words as she placed a hand over his. "Lucius, you mustn't let it happen. There  _will_ arrive a day when his desire will serve a purpose to  _everyone's_  benefit—well, except his own, I suppose—but that day is not yet here."

"I am not certain I understand." He wasn't certain if she was speaking cryptically, or if he'd really overestimated his alcohol tolerance.

" _She_  will, when the time comes. Hermione will know when her appeal to him will serve its purpose."

Lucius nodded, still unsure what was going on, but the poor thing seemed so _terribly_ certain. "What will happen if they meet sooner?"

Luna's tiny shoulders drooped and she took a sip of her drink. Licking her lips, she set her glass down with a dull  _thud_  and lifted her gaze to his. "If he pushes for this, his power guarantees she will not be  _allowed_  to deny him. He will  _have_ her, and . . . ." She shook her head, a pout tugging her bottom lip outward. "And he won't  _want_  to let her go."

Sniffling defiantly, his pride roared to the forefront as he asked, "What makes you so certain he—?"

"What does it feel like for you when you consider losing her?"

His spine stiffened and his jaw dropped slack. There was that damned icy wash through his midsection, again.

Nodding, Luna said softly, "Precisely. It's not her fault, she has that effect on people. She would control it if she even know she was doing it."

His thoughts from just a little while earlier came screaming back to him—that observation that Hermione seemed to have him and Draco under some spell. He knew that wasn't entirely the reality of the matter, but it seemed bloody close enough.

Even knowing that, his heart clenched painfully in his chest at the thought of—

"You needn't worry, Lucius," Luna said, smiling brightly. "When you return tomorrow, she will still be there. And she will be pleased to see you."

His brows shot up so high they nearly touched his hair. "Then you know what's happening tonight?"

Luna nodded again, a blush tinting her fair cheeks pink. "Yes. But you must've worry yourself. They adore her, yes, but they would never jeopardize her by whisking her away somewhere. They understand their roles, and  _hers_."

Her assurance put him at ease. He was certain that was most definitely alcohol-fueled, however.

"More importantly . . . ." Luna finished her drink before she continued. "She  _loves_  her new masters. Hermione won't leave you, not if you  _want_  her to stay."

Lucius had to remind himself to breathe. How very odd that a simple observation should have such an effect on him. Perhaps  _hearing_  that she loved them was more jarring than he expected, that was all.

"But she loves them, as well."

She moved her shoulders in a half-shrug. "Yes. But then, that's just her. And she's special in that way, as you well understand by now."

Before he could respond, Luna was up from her seat, grabbing her cloak as she slipped a hand around his. "C'mon, then."

Lucius grabbed his own cloak nearly as an afterthought as he let the slight young woman lead him from his seat and toward the stairs. "Where are we going?"

"My room," she said over her shoulder as they started climbing the steps. "I'm going to help you relax so you can put this out of your mind, and return to her—and your home—refreshed."

Lucius glanced back toward the first floor as they reached the upper level landing. "Um . . . ."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, Lucius. Hermione will understand. And besides, I won't do anything untoward to you." She paused as she pushed open her door. "Well, unless you ask, of course."

His eyebrows drew upward as she led him inside the room and shut the door.

The poor man was dead-asleep ten minutes into the hot oil massage—Luna's favorite relaxation technique.

Laughing softly as she shook her head, she pulled the quilt over him and laid herself gently on the other side of the bed, so as not to jostle him. Poor man needed his rest, after all. Worrying himself like that, honestly.

Luna yawned as she turned onto her side, letting her eyes drift closed on pleasant thoughts of returning to her masters in the morning, knowing she'd done her part to help Hermione, and set the mind of one of her Sister's masters at ease.

"You spoiled men worry too much," she whispered with a giggle as she let sleep take her.


	21. The Importance of Perfection

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The Importance of Perfection

Strolling back into the room, glass of water in hand, Sirius nearly laughed at the sight that greeted him. Severus' head had lolled back onto the cushion of the seat behind him as he stroked his hand idly over Hermione's wild hair and Hermione . . . .

She was curled up in Severus' lap, still. Her eyes were closed and she breathed evenly, her cheek pressed against the man's chest.

"I cannot believe she fell asleep," Sirius said in a whisper.

Severus smirked in a rather un-Severus-like manner as he shrugged. "To be fair, that was a bit rigorous."

Setting down the glass, Sirius tapped a finger against his chin in thought. The other man's eyes brows drew upward slowly as he waited.

"I have it. Give her here," he said, kneeling and holding his arms out for the sleeping girl.

Carefully handing her over, Severus climbed to his feet. "Should I even ask what you are planning?"

Sirius only grinned as he rose and turned on his heel to leave the room.

* * *

Hermione shifted, aware of the blissful sensation of warm skin pressing to hers as she stretched. Realizing slowly that she was in a bed, yet she didn't recall falling asleep in one, she blinked open her eyes.

She found herself laying on her side, with Sirius—stripped down as bare as she—facing her. Which meant those were Severus' arms holding her from behind.

What an impossibly lovely thing to wake to. It made her wonder if, perhaps, she was still asleep. This did seem the stuff of pleasant dreams, after all.

Then Sirius grinned wickedly at her.

Biting her lip, she stared back at him a long moment before she could speak. He was so beautiful that such a sinful expression from him stole her breath. "What's that look for, then?"

"Mm." Running the tip of his finger down, over her throat and lower to tease her breasts, he spoke while holding her gaze, "I returned to find you asleep. I am wondering how you will make that up to me, Dearest."

Her jaw fell as she tried to think of a reply. The task was no small feat, as Sirius raked the edge of his nails around her nipple, and Severus' hand sank down to cup roughly between her thighs.

"I have an idea," Severus murmured, his voice in her ear sending a delicious shiver through her.

"Oh? Do tell," Sirius said, playing along as he met the other man's eyes.

Severus smirked. "Well, there was  _one_ skill we never had the opportunity to test her on. You could have her show you how talented her precious little mouth is before you take her."

Grin widening, Sirius nodded as he shifted his attention back to Hermione. "What do you say, Dearest? Does that idea appeal to you?"

The air caught in her throat as she nodded. The very thought of it set off a giddy warmth in the pit of her stomach. "Oh,  _gods_ , yes," she said in a breathless whisper, a scandalized giggle escaping her.

"Well, then." He rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head. "Show me."

Biting her lip, she glanced back, meeting Severus' gaze.

The dark-eyed man nodded encouragingly as he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. "Go on, my good girl."

She thought she would never tire of hearing him call her that as she slipped from his embrace. Rising up, she leaned over Sirius, meeting his gaze and simply holding it for a moment.

Hermione saw a hint of color wash through his cheeks—something she never dreamed she'd see from one of her former trainers—and bent her head to catch his bottom lip between her teeth. She nibbled at the delicate skin only until he caved in and kissed her. Then, she pulled back, grinning triumphantly as she shifted to straddle his hip.

She moved along his body slow, skin sliding against skin, as she dragged her lips and the very edge of her teeth over his jaw, and down his throat. She paused there a moment, lapping teasingly at the pulse below his ear, before she moved lower, biting at his collar bone and then dropping quick, wet kisses down his chest and over his abdomen.

He was  _so_  hard—she could feel him pressing against her as she slid further down. There was something wicked and delightful in the way his cock brushed between her breasts as she nipped and lapped at the hollow of his hip bone.

Rising up over him once more, she balanced her weight on her knees and the palm of one hand as she wrapped the other around the base of him. She brought her lips down over him, lapping and suckling at the head of his cock as she gently worked her fist over him.

She flicked her gaze up to see how he sank his teeth hard into his bottom lip as a groan rumbled out of his chest. So lovely a picture, she nearly stopped.

Or, she must've stopped without realizing, because Severus reached over, gripping his hand into the hair at the back of her head and urging her to continue. Nodding against his hold, she slid her mouth along Sirius' skin, pressing the tip of her tongue along the delicate line beneath as she moved.

She drew back, gasping in shock as Severus' fingers slid into her.

"Oh, gods," she whispered, even as she heard him give a satisfied chuckle at her response. Hermione shivered as Severus withdrew and thrust his hand forward again, and again.

She struggled to hold Sirius' gaze as she said to the man beside her, "I . . . I don't think I can focus on  _him_ with you doing that."

Severus tutted at her, as he used his hand on her hair to urge her head lower, once more. "Oh, my good girl, that's precisely why I am  _assisting_ you."

He guided her to work her mouth along Sirius' cock, even as he continued rocking his fingers into her. She shifted in his embrace, repositioning herself a little.

Again, he tutted—he was causing her enough troubles, already. "Do not worry, I will not make you come just now."

Sighing around the warmth of Sirius in her mouth, she nodded again. Her lids drifted down and she let Severus control her motions, sliding her mouth around Sirius in deliberate, sucking pulls.

Her body clenched around Severus' fingers, warm and tight and she made the most wonderful little mewling sounds of pleasure in the back of her throat. It was all he could do not to take her again, right then.

But then even  _he_  couldn't be that selfish to Sirius.

Sirius groaned, again, as he clenched his jaw, his head tipping back. The way she jumped and shivered against him ever so slightly as she drew on him—presumably each time Severus' hand entered her—only made him more eager. Only made it more difficult to not simply give in and let her make him come.

"Oh, dear," Severus said, a smirk curving his lips as he looked up, noticing the other man's state.

Hermione was so  _very_ wet, and Sirius didn't look as though he'd last much longer with that perfect little mouth of hers working on him.

He leaned close, whispering in her ear, "You will want to take him, now, my good girl."

Only when she nodded did he withdraw his hand from between her thighs and relinquish his grip on her hair.

The movement seemed reluctant, and perhaps it was, as Hermione let Sirius' cock slip from between her lips. She straightened up, straddling his hips as she had earlier. Reaching her hand between their bodies to position him, she braced her other palm against his hip bone.

Then she removed her hand and dropped herself down, causing him to enter her in a sharp, deep thrust. He let out a gasp, some profanity mingled with the rushed breath, as her head fell back and a sweet shiver wracked her for a moment.

Sirius unlocked his fingers from behind his head and reached toward her, cupping her breasts as she started rocking over him.

Her eyelids fluttered as she shivered again and covered his hands with her own. He followed as she guided him to catch her nipples between his thumb and forefinger in rough, but playful pinches.

He jerked his pelvis beneath her, chuckling when she cried out in shock at the way the motion buried him even more deeply inside her.

Hermione trembled, stilling a moment at the delicious warmth that washed through her again and again as he repeated the movement, lifting his hips from the mattress to drive up, into her.

"You poor thing," Severus said in a gentle, drawling whisper. "Never fear, my good girl. I did say I was here to assist you."

His hands clamping over her hips, Severus urged her into motion. He pushed her forward and pulled her back in deep, grinding motions, working her against Sirius' thrusts.

She let her head fall back against Severus' shoulder, her tight grip on Sirius' hands loosening, but clinging, still. Sirius' motions beneath her—driving his cock into her _so_  hard and deep—and Severus' fingers digging into her hips as he guided her had taken all burden of movement away from her.

Turning her head, she nuzzled her face against Severus' throat, muffling an ecstatic scream as Sirius quickened his pace.

With nothing left to her, her body responded the moment she felt the rhythm of Sirius' thrusts turn erratic. He bucked against her, trying to control his motions as her body clenched around him, her muscles going taut.

"It's okay, Dearest," he said in a breathless whisper.

When she dropped her head from Severus' shoulder to look at Sirius, he lifted his hand from her breast to dip a finger between her lips.

Smiling as she nibbled and sucked at his skin, he continued, "Come for me now."

She couldn't help a gasp, his finger falling from her lips, as his already unsteady thrusts became sharper, still. Her body pressed back against Severus as she pushed herself, forcing her muscles to tense further.

Severus made a funny little grunting sound over her shoulder as he shifted behind her. He adjusted his hold on her, allowing him to guide her into grinding harder against Sirius.

A moan tore from her throat and she trembled against Sirius and Severus as her orgasm crashed over her.

Sirius gripped her thighs as his head fell back. The sweet, tight clenching of her body around him as she came pushed, him over the edge as well.

"Oh,  _gods_ ," she managed in a grating, breathless whisper as he thrust into her, hard and almost violent, one final time. Severus kept her moving, kept her rocking over Sirius, even as her orgasm began to ebb and delicious aftershocks arced through her, causing her to shudder each time Sirius' cock slid into her and withdrew.

The rocking slowed, stopping entirely after Sirius was spent.

Sirius relaxed beneath her, and Severus slid his hands from her hips up to her shoulders. He eased her forward as she caught her breath, guiding her to rest her head on Sirius' chest.

Under Severus' dark-eyed gaze, Sirius slid his arms around Hermione. He turned to lay on his side, moving her with him. Her face was burrowed down between his neck and the pillow and she wrapped her leg around his.

For a moment, Severus could only watch them. He always wondered—it wasn't jealousy, it  _wasn't_ , he told himself—if Sirius meant more to her than he did. If, somehow, they'd never been equal in her eyes, despite her words to the contrary.

But then, she reached her hand toward him, beckoning him to lie on her other side.

Nodding—he had missed how she almost seemed capable of reading their minds, sometimes—he tugged the covers out from beneath the pair. He covered them both and then crawled underneath, pressing himself against her back.

"So doting," Sirius murmured, smirking.

"Silence, you," Severus responded with an indignant sniffle.

Hermione, quiet the entire time, finally worked up the courage to ask. "So . . . did you enjoy me?"

When no answer came, she pulled her head from Sirius' neck to look at him, and then Severus, in turn. They were each gaping blankly at her.

"Oh, my good girl," Severus said, shaking his head as he smoothed her hair back from her face. "If only you knew . . . ."

Nodding, Sirius cupped her cheek. Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he said, "You were perfect, Dearest."

She smiled, content with their answers.

Ignoring the sensation of tears clogging her throat, she nodded back and snuggled down between them, once more. This could never happen again, that made  _perfect_  the most important thing she could give them.


	22. A Boundary Broken

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

A Boundary Broken

Hermione stretched beneath the heated, soapy water and lay back in the tub. When she'd slipped from the bed, Sirius and Severus has both still been dozing soundly. If the sunlight streaming through the windows of the room in the guest wing hadn't roused them, she didn't want to, either.

She'd taken the time to find Dobby, and had him carefully set their clothes in the room. After that, she hadn't been certain what to do, so she'd asked the elf to also prepare breakfast in the dining room. Not only for herself and the Manor's guests, but for her masters, as well, in case they returned soon.

Closing her eyes, she let her head roll back against the rim of the basin. Perhaps that hadn't been the best idea, but then, she doubted she was expected to send them on their way the moment they opened their eyes.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. She'd be sad to see them off, certainly, but last night had brought closure.

No, that wasn't all that saddened her, though.

The Manor felt so different without the Malfoys there. The massive house was exactly as occupied as it was when Draco and Lucius were home, yet it felt strangely empty to her.

Because her masters weren't there with her.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?" she said, without opening her eyes.

The house elf's squeaky voice came through the door. "Dobby has finished setting breakfast, Miss."

A gentle, sleepy smile curved her lips. "Thank you, Dobby. Please inform our guests. I will be out, shortly."

"Very well, Miss."

There was a soft, brief popping sound from the corridor. Hermione imagined that was the elf vanishing to reappear in the guest wing.

Everything fell quiet, the water in the tub sloshing, soft and slow against her skin. She realized belatedly that she must've drifted off for a few moments, because she never heard the door open.

Lifting her lids a fraction, she reached for the washcloth. A leather-gloved hand snatched it from beneath her fingers.

Gasping as her eyes shot wide, she sat up and turned in the water. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she smiled brightly.

"Master Lucius, you're back!"

He smirked, settling down beside the tub. He'd not imagined she'd be so delighted to see him. The warmth in her chestnut eyes, her damp, wild hair pinned atop her head, that happy expression lighting her features, the way the droplets of water from her bath clung to her shoulders and her bare breasts . . . .

The sight of her stole his breath a moment.

"Why didn't you send Dobby up to let me know?" She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "I'd have dressed and hurried down to welcome you home!"

Shaking his head, he made a careful show of removing his gloves and setting them aside. He then reached out, holding her gaze, and moved her back to lean against the tub, once more.

Hermione bit into her bottom lip as she looked from his grey eyes to the washcloth in his hand as he dipped it into the water. As he wrung it out and began working it over her skin in gentle strokes.

With a soft sigh, she tilted her head to one side as he brought the cloth up over her shoulder and along the side of her throat. She wondered briefly what she'd done to deserve her master pampering her like this.

"I met your Sister Luna last night," he murmured, his gaze on his hand as it moved over her.

"Oh?" Hermione couldn't help a warm giggle at that. She adored her Sister, but Luna's . . . eccentricities often made for some  _interesting_  first impressions. "I hope she didn't unsettle you too much."

He chuckled and shook his head, urging her forward in the tub. "No," he said as he started washing her back. "She is strangely charming. She also expressed concern for you. Perhaps you should write her and let her know you are well."

Hermione nodded. She felt like perhaps he was avoiding something, so she came out and asked, "Was it wrong that I had Dobby make them breakfast?"

Lucius' motions stilled a moment as his gaze danced over her. Was he really so easy to read? He'd been a bit put off to find Sirius and Severus eating breakfast at his dining room table, but then it was the proper thing to do, after all.

No, finding them there hadn't been the source of his agitation. But, how relieved he'd been to find that Luna had been right—that he'd return home, and Hermione had been happy to see him . . . .

She'd not run off. She'd not thought about her life being better some other way.

"No, Pet," he said, a half-smile curving one corner of his mouth upward. "It is fine. Actually, it is fortuitous that they are still here."

She turned her head toward him, giving him a curious pout. "It is?"

"Yes." He eased her back, once more and—dropping the washcloth into the water—slid his arms around her. "You will dress and we will go downstairs and join them. Then, when Draco arrives, he and I must speak privately with them."

Hermione tensed in his embrace, even as she lifted her hands from the water to twine her fingers through his. "There  _is_  something wrong, isn't there?"

Sighing, he turned his head, planting a kiss on her bare shoulder. "Nothing with which you need concern yourself just now, Pet." He didn't want her to worry over Voldemort's intentions toward her, and though—according to Luna—she would need to know,  _eventually_ , he didn't wish to tell her until he had some idea what might be done about it.

"And you  _must_  leave us alone for our discussion. Am I perfectly clear?"

Her brow furrowed as she swallowed hard. She didn't like the sound of his voice . . . there was a concerned note to his typical gravely pitch that she had never heard before.

She nodded, then leaned her head back against his shoulder.

Lucius recognized that he didn't tell her she  _couldn't_  do something very often, and rewarded her acquiescence with a kiss to her temple.

* * *

Although their guests seemed awkward as Hermione and Lucius joined them at the table, they eventually calmed. Before Hermione knew it, she was being regaled with stories of long-remembered childhood antics.

Though she was surprised by their connection—that Sirius was the late Lady Malfoy's cousin, and Severus had been Lucius' childhood friend, proving that Godrick's Hollow was a much smaller place than most residents realized—she supposed she  _should_  have questioned sooner what the bloody hell her trainers had been doing there.

And she might've, had there not been so very much distracting her last night.

"I didn't  _fall_  from that horse," Lucius said, his expression sour as he countered Severus' recollection. "You spooked the beast."

"Yes, well," Sirius chimed in with a wry smile. "If you were a more skilled equestrian, you'd have been able to stay seated."

Lucius shot his  _cousin_  a withering look as he went back to picking his bacon apart with the tips of his fingers.

Hermione hid her giggle behind her cup of chocolate-sweetened tea. Honestly, men were such children when it came to things at which they didn't excel.

"Oh, Uncle Sirius, Uncle Severus . . . you're  _still_  here." Draco's mildly confused voice drifted in from the dining room entryway.

"Master Draco!" She bounced up from her seat and hurried over to him.

Lucius bit his lip against a chuckle at the exhausted eye rolls Sirius and Severus gave. It was quite a sharp contrast to the bright expression that colored the younger man's features as Hermione slipped her arms around his neck.

Draco didn't notice anything but her as she stood on her toes to kiss him. He circled her waist with his arms, holding her to him as he kissed her back.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he let out a sigh. "You missed me, then?"

Smiling, she said in a breathless whisper, "Of  _course_ , I did!" She pulled away enough to meet his gaze. "You weren't  _really_  ill last night, were you?"

He shrugged, darting his gaze toward the men at the table. "Wasn't  _exactly_  my idea."

"Well, Draco, if we can peel you two apart a moment," Severus said, his typically snide tone just a touch more acidic than usual.

Hermione laughed as she turned in Draco's embrace so they could both face Lucius and the Manor's guests.

"Yes?" Draco asked as he leaned his chin over Hermione's shoulder.

Lucius, amused at his son's show—and wholly aware that he was attempting to throw his relationship with the girl in his uncle's faces—the older Malfoy finally got to his feet. As he rounded the table, Sirius rose, as well, and followed close at his heels.

"No, Draco," he said, his shoulders slumping a little as he gave Hermione a pointed nod. "We need to speak. The  _four_ of us."

Hermione nodded back, though her expression lost some of its brightness. She turned and kissed Draco's cheek before extracting herself from his arms. Dropping a kiss on Lucius' cheek as well, she then hugged Sirius and Severus before she exited the dining room to disappear up the stairs to her room.

It was not lost on Draco the way they all turned to follow her movement with their gazes. "Well, this little chat should be fun."

Sirius snorted a chuckle, while Lucius and Severus exchanged a scowling glance.

* * *

In his study a short while later, Lucius waited for the two dark-haired men to absorb the information. Draco had already known about Hermione's  _ability_ , but he looked a bit thunderstruck at the idea of Voldemort wanting her back.

"What did Cygnus have to say, anyway?"

Sirius held in a groan at the mention of his uncle's name. The question was directed at Draco, so he instead turned his attention to the pale-haired young man.

Draco shrugged and leaned forward in his seat. He rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands before him. "Grandfather said that,  _if_  Hermione agrees, she can sign herself over to us. It would legally bind her to the Malfoy family. Like matrimony or lifting the contraceptive charm placed on them by Solitude, the master  _must_  have their pet's consent." Before any of them could ask, he shrugged, "Signing-over is obscure, because pets don't often serve more than one master in a household. But . . . he also said that even if we did implement such a document, Voldemort  _could_  ignore it."

A mix of shock and confusion marred Lucius' features. Of  _course_ he should have considered that, he was abashed that his own hopefulness that this could be so easily handled had blinded him to the reality of the matter.

To the reality of how ruthless he well knew Voldemort could be.

"As long as he remains on the throne, you mean."

Draco nodded.

"Are you now suggesting a coup?" Severus asked, his brows drawing upward.

Sirius shook his head. "If this thing about her magic is true, then . . . she'd adapt to Voldemort's whims, yes?"

"So it would seem," Lucius muttered.

Biting his lip along moment as he let his eyes drift closed, Sirius shook his head. Eyes opening, he met Severus' gaze. "They're right. He can't have a night with her. He'd never let her go, he'd warp her and twist her . . . . And we all know Voldemort is the sort to break his  _toys,_  so no one else will want them."

"Dobby, shh,  _please_!"

They all turned their heads toward the door at the same moment. That had, unmistakably, been Hermione's hushed voice.

Draco shifted in his seat, but Lucius raised a hand, cautioning him to remain still.

On quiet footfalls, the elder Malfoy crossed the room. He looked back to the other three men and made a waving gesture. Immediately Sirius started bemoaning all the changes to Godric's Hollow since Voldemort had risen to power.

After a breath, Lucius opened the door.

Hermione sat on the floor, in the midst of a subdued struggle with the elf. Dobby appeared to be trying to pry her away, his bony, long-fingered hands around her wrists as she shook her head at him.

It took her a moment, it seemed, to realize she'd been caught eavesdropping. Biting hard into her bottom lip, she raised her head, meeting Master Lucius'  _markedly_  unhappy gaze.

"Pet?" he said, his voice tight.

She forced a gulp down her throat as Dobby vanished. "Master Lucius."

Frowning, he held a hand out to help her up. "Well," he said, as she allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Since you have been listening, you may as well join the discussion."

She nodded, following him back into the room. Though she did wince at his next words.

"We will deal with the fact that I told you this was a private discussion  _afterward_."

Nodding again, she ignored the icy trickle in the pit of her stomach. "May I offer a suggestion?"

Hermione looked around the room, meeting their expectant gazes, one by one. She took their silence as an invitation to speak.

"Well," she said, taking a seat on the sofa between Draco and Sirius. "First, I believe this chat should be about more than just me. Voldemort is bad for our city. He needs to be removed from power, anyway. Protecting me from him is only a catalyst to a thing that  _must_  happen."

Lucius leaned his hips back against his desk as he watched her. Exactly as Luna had said—Hermione would understand what to do.

"I think you are, perhaps, disregarding the simplest answer. Dame Bellatrix."

Sirius' brow furrowed. "What of her?"

The girl shrugged. "Well, from what I gathered,  _she_  is the one with the actual power, not Voldemort. He has only risen to ruler because of  _her_  magic. If you can manipulate her with something, give her . . . something she wants, maybe she would help us."

" _Dame_  Bellatrix only cares for herself," Severus muttered with a shake of his head.

"Not so," Lucius said, aware that his sister-in-law, as twisted as she could be, cared for those she considered loved ones. But he didn't see how that helped them just now. "Perhaps if we understood more of what's _actually_  going on in the palace—when there's no outsiders peering in at them—we could find some weakness between them."

"You mean, if we had someone who's lived in the palace recently tell us what they've observed?" Hermione asked, though she was afraid to turn and meet Master Lucius' gaze, just now.

"Something like that. You have an idea, Pet?"

She gave a side-to-side nod as she shrugged. "That street urchin we encountered on my first trip to the marketplace with you . . . . He caught my eye at first, because he resembles the Prince."

"You're suggesting we replace Harry Potter with him?" Draco didn't know if that was genius, or madness.

"If we could convince him to take the Prince's place, we could get a message to the Potters, and find out if the Prince has witnessed  _anything_  that might help." Once more, she shrugged. "Voldemort has—strangely—treated his prisoners well. The conditions  _might_  actually be preferable to living on the streets."

"All right, so, even  _if_  he agrees," Severus said, holding up a hand. Apparently they were all so enamored of how quickly a plan was forming that they'd taken leave of their senses. "How, precisely, do you plan to make the switch?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. It had seemed like a good idea . . . until that point.

"We will think of something." Lucius met Sirius and Severus' doubtful looks with nod. "I will contact you when we have this sorted. I am certain you would wish to know her safety has been assured."

Lucius straightened up and came to stand before Hermione. His gaze on her—even as she refused to look up at him—he waved dismissively toward the door. "Draco, please see your uncles to the carriage."

Even as Draco stood, his attention leaped from his father, to their pet, and back. He was aware Father had been ignoring all her little transgressions before, but  _this_  instance was different. Lucius Malfoy had been trying to protect her from realizing Voldemort had never actually given up the idea of having her.

Shaking his head, he turned and led Sirius and Severus from the room.

Several strained, quiet moments passed before she managed to finally meet his gaze. He looked even more displeased than before, causing her to give a little start.

He reached down, looping his fingers around one of her gold bangles and yanked her to her feet. "Come along, Pet," he said in a low tumble of words. "It seems you finally have earned punishment."

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as he turned and began pulling her along behind him.


	23. My Master Lucius

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

My Master Lucius

They walked the corridor in silence, but Hermione somehow felt certain that if she listened close enough, she might hear a difference in Master Lucius' footfalls. Surely there was some minute change between how the soles of his finely-polished shoes normally struck the thickly carpeted floor, and how they would sound  _now_ , clearly angered as he was with her.

He dragged her along, the set of his shoulders, and every line of his body she could see, tensed. They came to a halt before the door at the very end of the master wing. Hermione recalled sharply her first day at Malfoy Manor. This was one of the rooms Master Lucius had said she was not permitted to enter.

His curled finger clung fast to the gold circlet around her wrist—as though he imagined she might bolt, were he to give her the opportunity—as he fished a key from inside his jacket.

"I have kept this on my person since the day after I acquired you," he said as he slipped the key into the lock and twisted. "We did not use this room, thus I chose it and had it  _arranged_  as a precaution. That was why you were not allowed in here."

He'd told her precisely what her punishment would be, she knew he simply didn't want her to have foreknowledge of how it would be administered. Hermione forced a gulp down her throat, but kept her thoughts to herself. She was already in enough trouble just now.

Master Lucius pushed open the door and used his hold on her bracelet to guide her into the room ahead of him. She barely registered him stepping in behind her, or the click of him locking the door.

The room was . . . Spartan was the delicate way of stating it. All but three items of whatever furniture must've been here before had been removed, leaving only a tall bureau, an arm chair and beside that, a table. Upon the table seemed items any gentleman might gather for a quiet evening alone—a book, a shallow porcelain ashtray, a small humidor, and a single golden candlestick which, when lit, would likely provide him just enough light to read.

What unsettled her was not the lack of things in the room, but one very particular  _thing_  which hung in the center. He must've noticed the way her eyes had widened, because he slipped his hold from her then, allowing her to walk directly under the simple, doubled chain, so that she could stare up at it.

Well, now, she thought with a tiny shake of her head, that couldn't  _possibly_  be for binding her—as he'd threatened—it was terribly high up for her. If she stood on her toes and stretched out her arms, she still wouldn't reach.

Then, she heard the distinct  _clack_  of a drawer on the bureau snapping shut. She desperately wanted to turn and look at what Master Lucius had retrieved, but she didn't _dare_.

Sighing heavily, he stepped around her and placed a thick length of fabric on the table. He pivoted on a heel to look at her for a long moment before he spoke.

"I am going to undress you now, Pet. You are not to move even a millimeter as I do so." He came near again, his stride sure and measured. "Am I  _perfectly_  clear?"

Hermione nodded, even as she shifted her gaze to watch his leather-gloved hands drawing close to her. "Yes, Master Lucius."

He circled her, his movements slow, delicate—the tips of his fingers barely brushing her skin—as he undid the lace tie at the back of her dress. She shivered at the whispered touch, but held still, barely allowing her eyes to drift closed.

She bit her lip, holding in a quiet whimper at the feel of his breath against her throat as he leaned closer. The long ends of his hair dusted lazily over her shoulder as he slid his fingers beneath the thin, jewel-accented straps of her dress and slipped them down her arms.

Master Lucius tugged her dress down and let it fall around her. Just as the fabric hit the floor, she heard him tsk'ing.

She couldn't imagine what she had possibly done wrong,  _now_. But then, her body was  _so_  very sensitive from such constant attentions that she thought for certain she might already be wet simply from him removing her dress. Perhaps her state had caused her to drift back, to press closer to him without realizing she'd even moved.

Hermione didn't even turn her head to look at him—she didn't  _dare_ —as she asked, "Master Lucius?"

She could tell his shoulders had drooped as he sighed. "These useless things . . . ." There was a shuffling and rustling of fabric as he knelt behind her. "Why  _do_  you wear these insufferable, time-wasting undergarments?"

Relief that he wasn't responding to some wrongdoing on her part swept through her. Yet, it tempered her strange mix of apprehension and arousal by only the tiniest fraction.

Inhaling deep, she let the breath out in what was meant to be a slow and calming exhalation, but the air trembled as it passed her lips. "Tonight was to be Master Draco's night, and he prefers me in them."

"I swear, sometimes it seems I do not understand my son at all."

As with her dress straps, he slid his fingers beneath the sides of her knickers and dragged them down. One hand, however, seemed to have circled a little too far around her leg, stroking between her thighs for one quick, teasing moment.

She bit back an ugly sound of disappointment. For all she knew, that flickering touch might well be as close to release as he would allow her tonight.

Dropping her knickers with her dress, he tossed them both aside and then climbed to his feet. She gasped in surprise at the feel of a single, leather-clad finger sliding between her cheeks before he stepped around her to cross the room.

There was the faintest shifting of his shoulders as he retrieved that length of cloth from the table. She thought perhaps that was a chuckle he hadn't hidden quite well enough; he was taking too much enjoyment from this. It had started because he was angry, but even were his anger to abate, he would keep at this because he liked it.

When he returned to her, he took one of her wrists in his hand and lifted, securing the fabric—silk, from the feel of it, she noticed—in a knot that was snug, but not overly tight. He captured her other wrist in the same manner, binding it atop the first.

Hermione wasn't quite paying attention as he guided her to raise her arms over her head and threaded the silk through the hanging chain. He was  _too_  close, she was distracted with the brushes of his clothes against her bare skin and the gleam in his grey eyes that she couldn't quite read.

Suddenly, he tugged and she was forced up onto her toes.

Tipping his head to one side, Lucius captured her gaze, holding it as he dragged his hands down, over her breasts. He pinched her nipples, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger. He found he had to bite his lip to keep back a grin over the way she moaned.

She was afraid to let her head fall back, and equally afraid to lean into his touch as she wanted to . . . . As she would if she were not so certain it might spark his anger anew. Instead she simply hung there, staring up at him, her mouth open in a perfect little  _O._

Master Lucius slid one hand from her breast, trailing along her ribcage and down her abdomen. He adored the way she shuddered as his leather-clad fingertips tickled from her navel to her hollow of her hip.

Hermione thought she  _definitely_ saw the slip of a smile curve his lips when his hand dipped between her thighs, drawing a pleading whimper from her. Yet, just as quickly, he pulled back, lifting his hand to show that telltale sheen of wetness on the black leather.

Holding her gaze, still, he slipped the tips of his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. "If only you had not disobeyed, this might have been a reward rather than a punishment, Pet." He dipped his head, then, catching her earlobe between his teeth and nibbling.

She drew in a hissing breath, her teeth clenched and she was unable to help herself from leaning closer to him. His fingers, again, sank between her thighs, fast and rough as his other hand continued teasing her breasts.

Hermione didn't want to give in, she didn't want her body to respond so quickly or so very sharply, but Master Lucius knew her  _too_  well in this way. She shivered against him—against the soft, dull scrape of his clothes against her bare flesh, and the delicious touch of leather stroking her.

He waited, nipping, and teasing, until her body—her limbs already stretched due to her binding—tensed. Until her breathing became harsh and she was on the verge of orgasm . . . .

And then he lifted his head and took a single step backward, putting distance between their bodies. His hands slipped from those most sensitive places, instead tracing lightly over her skin.

The tension drained from her almost instantly and she shuddered, a pained expression flitting across her face.

Again, he waited. This time, until her rushed breathing slowed and another shiver wracked her.

Lucius bit his bottom lip, tipping his head to one side. He watched her face as he sank his fingers between her thighs, once more.

She gasped and leaned forward as best she could, pressing herself against his hand.

After a few teasing strokes, he quickened his pace, his movements rougher. He tried not to grin as her head fell back, a pleading sound tearing from her throat.

He worked her until a fine sheen of sweat glistened along her limbs. Again and again, he brought her to the very brink and then slowed dramatically, robbing her of release.

She lost count of how many times when she finally managed to choke out the words, " _Please_ , Master Lucius, stop! I can't take anymore."

Withdrawing his hands from her entirely, he waited for her to look at him. Holding her gaze, he backpedaled until he reached that chair.

She watched in disbelief as he lit the candle, sat down . . . and opened that book.  _Oh, he_ must _be joking!_

"Master Lucius?"

"Now, now, Pet," he said, without lifting his gaze from the words before him. "You are going to hang there, overwrought and dripping wet, until you understand the purpose."

Hermione blinked hard a few times and shook her head. She slowed her breathing in an attempt to calm herself. If she did simply  _hang there_ with her mind mulling over his lovely tortures and how utterly frustrated she was just now, she'd never think clearly enough to comprehend his meaning.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to quell the sweet, distracting ache. Her gaze was on him the entire time, and he appeared quite oblivious to her efforts.

Pursing her lips, she kept her attention on her master. The last thing she needed just then would be to look down at herself and see the state he'd left her in—droplets beading her skin, and the points of her breasts tight from the damned teasing pulls of those leather-gloved hands.

Drawing a deep breath, she let it out as quietly as she could as she tried to collect herself . . . . Tried to think what the purpose of the punishment was, precisely.

It wasn't  _solely_  about disobedience, no, that could not be it. She'd been disobedient before.

" _When Draco arrives, he and I must speak privately with them. . . . And you_ must _leave us alone for our discussion. Am I perfectly clear?"_

That note she'd never heard before in his voice . . . . That audible hint of concern.

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. He hadn't wanted her to overhear what he'd had to say about Voldemort's intentions toward her. He hadn't wanted her to worry, because regardless if  _she_  thought there was something to Voldemort's desires and all this ridiculous magic nonsense . . .  _he_  was scared.

_Lord_  Lucius Malfoy was scared for her. And he hadn't wanted her to see him that way.

He feared that he could not keep her safe—that he could not keep her  _his_.

Her eyelids closed against a sudden, unexpected dampness. He shouldn't care how his  _pet_ saw him, which could only mean she'd become more than that to him, to both of them. She was the Malfoy Pet, and she could think of no sweeter fate.

"I'm sorry, Master Lucius."

She heard the book snap shut and opened her eyes. He sat there, still, but now he stared up at her.

"For what, precisely?"

"You were trying to protect me; that hadn't crossed my mind. I let my curiosity get the better of me. I should have known better . . . . ." She shook her head. "I should have known you would not have asked me in such a manner if it was not a grave thing. I'm sorry I didn't listen. Forgive me, Master Lucius. Please."

He held her gaze for a few silent heartbeats before he set the book aside and stood.

Hermione held her breath without noticing as she waited for what he might do next. She watched, unblinking as he drew near to her.

Stepping so close his clothes once again brushed her skin, he continued looking into her eyes as he reached up. He slipped loose the knot holding the silk to the chain.

As she settled on her feet, he returned to that chair. Master Lucius removed his jacket, hanging it from the back, and then resumed his seat.

She slipped the bond from her wrists, the silk whispering to the floor beside her feet. Uncertain what he wanted, she merely stared back at him.

Propping one elbow upon the armrest, he touched a curled fist against his chin. "Show me."

Her eyelids fluttered in rapid blinks as she processed those two little words. Show him that she was sorry?

_No_ , she thought, her inner voice as surprised as it was sudden,  _not that I'm sorry. Show him how sincere I am in wanting his forgiveness_.

Biting her lip, she crossed the room. Hermione climbed into his lap, shifting to straddle his thighs as she slipped her arms around his neck.

Allowing her eyes to drift closed, she leaned close, her mouth capturing his in a kiss. She nibbled and suckled at his bottom lip until she felt his hands come up to press, splayed, against the small of her back to hold her to him.

Withdrawing just long enough to let out a sigh, she drew one hand forward, watching the movement of her own fingers as she traced his lips. She could sense his gaze on her face as she did so.

She closed the distance, this time darting her tongue between his lips to caress his own quick, playful strokes. He made an impatient growling sound in the back of his throat, the hands at her back holding her tighter, still.

Hermione broke the kiss, dragging her lips down, along his jaw and to the side of his throat. Nuzzling his long, satiny hair out of the way, she nipped and lapped at the vulnerable bit of skin just beneath his ear.

He sighed, his head lolling back, offering more skin to her wandering mouth. She imagined if she looked up right then, there would be the sweetest dreamy expression upon his face as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

Bracing her knees on the seat on either side of him, she lifted herself from his lap. Just a little—just enough that she could slip a hand between them to open his trousers.

He made another lovely groaning sound as she slid her hand inside and gently pulled his hardened cock free of his clothes.

She tried not to giggle at the heady rush as she realized the power he was giving her in this moment. No matter how they started, they always ended up in a position that placed him in charge—whether he turned to place her on her back, or withdrew entirely to place her on her knees. Yet now . . . .

Now, as she positioned him carefully and lowered herself, she thought perhaps he had no such intention this one time.

He drew in a hissing breath between clenched teeth as he slid into her. There was no hiding the shiver that wracked him as she started moving, her small, perfect hands reaching behind him to grip the back of the chair for leverage as she pushed her hips forward and back over him.

She kissed him again as his hands crept up her back to curl over her shoulders, pulling her down harder against him as she worked herself around his cock, in slow, deep strokes.

He nipped at her mouth before he thrust his tongue between her lips, plunging and stroking in rhythm with her motions.

She could feel it, the sweet torments he'd inflicted just a short while ago coupled so easily and fluidly with the feel of how her own movements caused him to slide deeper into her and withdraw, again and again. She was already on the edge, and she didn't care.

Unlike so many times before, she didn't care that this seemed too fast, her body tensing and the rocking of her hips becoming erratic and clumsy with the need of it. She didn't care as she again broke the kiss to let her head fall back, an ecstatic cry tearing out of her as she came . . . because he was  _right_  there with her.

His hands had slid from her back, cupping her arse to pull her against him more sharply. He'd ducked his head, catching one of her nipples between his teeth and biting down. His hips lifted from the seat, pushing up against her in a delicious, jarring thrust as he spent himself.

Her orgasm ebbed, and she rocked against him again, slow, and gentle, but just as deep. He lowered back into his seat by increments, his hands on her hips urging her to a halt when he found he could take no more.

Hermione collapsed against him, unmoving for a long while as they caught their breath and their pulses steadied.

Eventually, she shifted on her own, placing herself the way he so often did afterward—so that she was cradled in his lap with her head tucked beneath his chin. The feel of Master Lucius' arms circling her was welcome and quite reassuring, just now.

"Now I believe you," he said, his voice low and gravely.

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her at his words.

He nudged her head up so their gazes met. "Why do you think," he began after a time of simply staring at her, "I should want, so fiercely, to protect you, Pet?"

Biting her lip, she followed the warm fluttering in the center of her chest as she leaned up, brushing her mouth over his in a sweet kiss. He couldn't say the words, but that was all right.

The slip of a smile curved her lips and she cupped his face in her hands. "I love you, Master Lucius."

"So you can read me, after all," was all he said, wearing a tiny smile of his own as he shifted her to once more cradle her in his arms.

* * *

It was very late by the time Lucius carried the sleeping girl into Draco's room.

His son was asleep beneath the covers as Lucius pulled them up to settle Hermione beside Draco. It was not lost on him how, even in slumber, she gravitated to Draco, who, in response, slipped his arms around her.

With a smirk, he lifted the covers over them and turned for the door.

"You stole my night, you know," he heard his son murmur in a sleepy tumble of words.

Biting back a surprised chuckle, Lucius nodded as he glanced at his son before he continued across the room. "Yes, well, to be fair, I sacrificed my most recent night to your uncles. Hush now, we'll re-sort the schedule tomorrow."

Despite the young man's fussing, Lucius knew Draco was fast sleep, again, before he was even out the door.


	24. The Invitation

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The Invitation

Two weeks had passed since the visit from Sirius and Severus. There were no troubling summons from the palace. Hermione had been quite busy helping Tully with the gradual and painstaking addition of a bed of sapphire-dahlias to the already extensive array of blossoms filling the garden—a responsibility she was happy to undertake, as it both gave her a bit of purpose,  _and_  allowed her to utilize what knowledge of horticulture her time with Queen Lily had afforded her. Lucius was caught up with more work than was typical for this time of year, as the other landowners threw increasing tantrums about Voldemort's sloppy handling—or lackadaisical non-handing, as seemed more the case—of the Godrick's Hollow's finances. Draco had involved himself in some secret project, of which he'd shared the details with no one.

Aside from the scheduling nightmares of their daytime hours, their evenings and nights fell back into blessed organization. Whose nights were whose had been re-sorted, as Lucius had promised, they continued Hermione's pre-dinner poetry recitations . . . and still, no one could talk Draco into putting clothes on when the servants forgot to deliver things into his bathroom on time.

As Hermione came in from the Manor gardens and made her way toward the staircase, she nearly collided with Draco. When he tried to pull her into his arms, she held up a hand and backed away.

"What's the matter?" he asked, a scowl marring his handsome features.

"I've just come in from planting more bulbs," she said with a frown. She gestured at the grubby state of the long, off-white apron she wore over a simple dress with her hands, covered as they were in over-sized work gloves caked by soil. "I'm a mess."

Frowning, he drew her close despite her objection and pressed a kiss to her lips. "Well, go get cleaned up and then come to the sitting room. There's . . . something I want to talk with you about."

Hermione arched a brow at the drop in his tone as he mentioned  _something_  to talk about, but nodded. "All right." She gave him a second kiss, before turning to head up the staircase.

"I know what you mean to tell her," Lucius said from the foyer, once she was out of ear-shot.

Draco looked up to find that Father was checking the post. "And you object?"

Glancing up, Lucius shrugged. "No." He started up the stairs, as well, to settle in his study with whatever missives had arrived. "There was no avoiding it with what's to come. I simply dread her reaction."

Draco sighed, his shoulders drooping. "As do I."

* * *

Hermione sipped her tea, before setting the cup upon its saucer on the table. She wanted to sit back on the chaise, wanted to relax next to Draco, but he was tense as he sat beside her, his gaze pinned to her face, so relaxing was  _not_  an option.

He seemed so terribly nervous that she thought perhaps his attitude was contagious, as she nearly felt like shrinking into the cushion behind her as she started back at him.

"Will you please tell me what's the matter?" she asked, finally, exasperated with the tension in the room. "Have I done something wrong?"

His brows drew up at the second question. "What? No!"

"Then is it Voldemort? Has he asked for me already?"

The spark of fear in her eyes as she asked that prompted a fuller response from him. He reached out, covering her hands with his own as he shook his head. "No. Please, don't be scared. You didn't do anything wrong and this hasn't to do with Voldemort . . . ." He shrugged as his voice trailed off. "Well, it does, sort of, but it's not about _that_."

Sighing, she tried to let go of some of her tension, but it proved nearly impossible with him still so fidgety at her side. Master Lucius had strolled into the room, but lingered at the entryway. He rested his hip against door frame as he watched them, a letter open in one hand as he folded his arms across his chest.

Her brow furrowing, she glanced from Master Draco to Master Lucius, and back. " _Please_  tell me what this is all about. You're both making me terribly nervous!"

"Dame Bellatrix is my aunt!"

Hermione's face fell as she watched Draco's expression. He was wincing,  _hard_. She turned her attention to Master Lucius; he, too, had quite a miserable look twisting his features.

This confession was a bit startling to her, but it appeared  _painful_ to them. They were waiting for her to respond—and it seemed they expected that response to be quite fiery, indeed.

Chewing her lip, Hermione thought over this . . .  _Aunt Bellatrix_ -situation. "So," she started, trying to get a better understanding, "Dame Bellatrix is Bellatrix  _Black_? As is in the late Lady Narcissa's sister, not  _your_  sister, correct, Master Lucius?"

Lucius' grey eyes drifted closed a moment as he nodded.

Letting out a breath, Hermione nodded back as she tried, again, to sort this revelation. When they'd first acquired her, they'd had no reason to divulge such information. Then, somehow, they came to care how she saw them, and so did not  _want_  to divulge it.

She'd already suspected that the Malfoys likely had pre-existing ties to Voldemort, even before he usurped the throne. Lady Narcissa's sister being his resident magic-caster certainly made sense, in that regard. And, knowing her own short—but not necessarily pleasant—history with Bellatrix, and the man who'd torn Hermione from her place with the Potters . . . .

With a sigh, she shook her head, finally. "I actually understand why you would not wish me to know this." She could swear she felt every last drop of tension drain from the room as they both took a breath.

"You do?" Draco asked, taking one hand from hers to wipe his brow. "You're not hurt?"

Lucius snorted a chuckle as the question caused the girl to look at Draco as though he'd sprouted a second head.

"Why should that hurt me?" Hermione shrugged. Men were such silly, impractical creatures sometimes, weren't they? "It was not my place to know, and then you didn't want me to know because you thought it  _would_  hurt me. I'm still a bit in disbelief that either of you put so much weight on what  _I_ think of you."

Draco smiled, feeling so much more at ease now—though he wondered if she wasn't lulling them into a false sense of security to leave the vulnerable for some later explosion. "Why wouldn't you believe how much we care for you?"

Hermione dropped her gaze, reaching for a sip of her tea to wet her suddenly dry throat before she could reply. "When Master Lucius first brought me here from the auction house, I did not think of this place as home. I didn't think of any place as home, really, because I was afraid to. I was nothing more than a possession intended to sate your desires, and I was perfectly aware of that station."

She paused, looking from Master Lucius to Master Draco, and then dropping her gaze, once more. They were both watching her as she spoke, their expressions unreadable.

Drawing a breath to calm herself, she went on. "I've become more to you, to both of you, I know that. And I'm so happy that I have, but . . . . I can't help but worry that it won't last. I know how I feel toward the two of you, but what if the way you feel . . . . What if these are the earmarks of an infatuation that will fade over time, rather than actual l—l . . . ?" Oh, bloody hell. She couldn't say the word with both Malfoy men staring at her like this.

"You're really worried we don't love you?" Draco asked, the tone of his voice somewhere between mystified and heart-broken.

Hermione arched a brow, her expression rather serious, now. Serious, and indicative of how accustomed to them she'd become for how very  _Malfoy_ that look was. "Can you blame me? From my angle, the transition does seem rather inexplicable."

Master Lucius spoke up, then, as he pushed away from the doorjamb to step further into the room. "Believe me, Pet, our lives would be so much simpler these days, were that even possible."

She granted him a bashful smirk, a blush coloring her cheeks as she shook her head.

Draco angled his chin toward the missive in his father's hand. "Something we should know about?" He was aware, suddenly, of Hermione tensing all over again. Though, he was rather certain Father's face would be much more severe if what he held was from Voldemort.

"It is actually an invitation to a dinner party in Mount Beacon."

Draco's brows shot up. "When?"

"Next week, during the new moon. You know Fenrir and Remus will not risk having humans there during any other phase."

"Fenrir and Remus?" Hermione echoed, her heart thumping in her chest.

Lifting a brow, Lucius pivoted to regard her directly. "You know them?"

She shook her head. "Not personally, of course. But I do recall their names. They purchased my Sister, Pansy."

"Purchased her? So she's gifted."

"Yes, she has an innate understanding of Feral-Speak." She would not admit that she'd never thought Pansy's  _gift_  applicable by any means, until the day the dark-haired girl was purchased. "Very useful to werewolves to have someone who can remind them not to get up to too much trouble during a full moon in a way they can actually comprehend, was my understanding of it."

Lucius nodded, a vague look of being impressed flickering across his features. He hadn't put much stock in the intelligence of Fenrir, so purchasing his pet's Sister had likely been Remus' idea.

"Well, then," he said with a small grin as he folded the letter between his fingers. "This party should prove a pleasant reunion for you and your Sister."

She felt a sweet little ripple course through her at the thought, a flicker of memory ready to flood her mind, but she was just as quickly distracted by Dobby poofing into the room. The small creature bowed his head to Master Lucius before scurrying over to Draco.

Draco dipped his head to listen as the elf whispered something in his ear. Hermione wasn't certain what to make of it that Dobby kept his large-eyed gaze on her the entire time, or that he was smiling so very brightly.

Straightening up, Draco slapped Dobby on the shoulder so hard, the poor thing almost toppled over. "Good work, Dobby! Very good work!"

Despite struggling to remain on his feet under the heavy-handed gesture of approval, Dobby beamed at the praise.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask, but Master Lucius spoke first. "What, precisely, is going on?"

"I've had the elves assisting me with something. I didn't want to say anything, in case it didn't pan out." Standing, he offered a hand to Hermione. "I've got a surprise for you."

Slipping her fingers into his, Hermione let him pull her to her feet. As he guided her through the Manor and out to the garden, she glanced back at Master Lucius, who followed at their heels in silence. She knew the look she gave him was questioning, but he only shrugged, his expression curious.

As they stepped out onto the garden path, Draco slipped his hand from hers to move behind her. He covered her eyes and urged her forward.

Hermione couldn't help breathing a nervous giggle. "Whatever are you doing?"

"Just a moment," he said in a whisper, but she could tell by his tone that he was smiling.

After a few more steps, she knew they were nearing the grand fountain that dominated the first of the garden's many patio areas. He guided her to stop, but a few heartbeats passed before he lowered his hands.

"What . . . ?" Hermione's voice trailed off as she saw the new addition to the garden stationed before the fountain.

She felt her eyes water as she broke away from her masters to step closer. "My father's sculpture! The one I told you about." So many times she'd visited it after Mother Sybil's little slip—so many times she wondered what it would have been like to watch her father craft this piece with his own two hands.

"I'm having the other sculptures he crafted brought here, as well, but I thought this should be the first one, since it was the piece you would recognize."

Hermione covered her mouth with trembling fingers, uncertain what to say for a moment. "I . . . I don't . . . . I can't . . . ." She bit hard into her bottom lip.

"There's more," Draco said, clearing his throat. He was trying to remain unaffected by her emotional display, and was failing at that, just a little. He stepped up beside her, producing a slip of embossed parchment from his pocket.

She took the slip from his hand, blinking away tears as she tried to make sense of the words.  _Property of Hermione Malfoy_  was all her damp eyes could make out. "I d—I don't understand."

Shoulders drooping, Draco lifted a hand, wiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "I purchased them in  _your_  name. Your father's works, they're  _yours_ , now."

Hermione's legs went out from under her, and she sagged forward. Just as quickly, she found Master Draco and Master Lucius on either side of her, holding her upright.

So much! The Malfoys had given her so much, and they didn't even understand half of it! She had possessions, and dresses she'd made with her own two hands, and responsibilities—she had a bloody bank account!—and now . . . . Now she had a  _legacy._  These works of art, these indelible marks her father had left on this world, and they were hers, now!

She had a life beyond being a pet. And she had no idea how to say thank you.

Draco almost panicked when she threw her arms around his neck and started crying. Until he heard the laughter mixed with her sobs. Not that he knew what to do about happy tears, either, but at least he didn't have to worry about calming her.

Instead, he merely folded his arms around her, holding her close as she wept.

He met his father's gaze over the top of the crying girl's head. The look in the older man's grey eyes was more impressed than Draco could ever recall having seen before over  _anything_  in his entire life.

The corners of his mouth tipping downward in a thoughtful frown, Lucius nodded as he mouthed the words, "Good show."

Draco could only smile, nodding back as he held Hermione to him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we learn the identity of the street urchin. And yes, he doesn't resemble his canon-counterpart [in the book, or film], for story purposes.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Favors

"C'mon, Pet. Time to wake, now."

Hermione stirred at the sound of Master Lucius' voice purring in her ear. Rather than paying him heed, she snuggled back against him beneath the covers.

"Starting off the morning with disobedience, are we?"

She giggled sleepily, yet still refused to open her eyes. Instead, she turned her head, grazing her teeth along underside of his jaw—earning her a rumbling sound of satisfaction from him and he slid his arms around her.

"Can't we just stay in bed today?" she asked in whisper as she turned in his embrace. Honestly the entire week that had passed since she'd received Master Draco's gift, it seemed like the Malfoy men were in competition and they'd not deigned to tell her. The constant—and decidedly rigorous—attention was delightful. And  _exhausting_.

He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip as held her gaze. Tipping his head, her kissed, hard and rough.

Letting out a little, ecstatic whimper, she stroked his plunging tongue with her own. She pressed her naked form closer to his beneath the covers as she reached down, circling his cock with eager fingers.

Master Lucius groaned low in the back of his throat. His arms tightened around her and he broke the kiss, dragging the edge of his teeth along her jaw to her throat, lapping and nibbling at her skin.

Yet, rather than rocking his hips against the motions of her hand—as he'd all but trained her to expect from him—he lifted his head, his breath a bit harsh and his grey eyes hazy.

"We could  _certainly_  stay in," he said, a smirk on his handsome face. "But I'd thought today, we would go look for your street urchin."

A shock ran through her—her own bloody plan, and she'd forgotten! "Oh, um, you're right Master Lucius. We have to get ready for the day!"

She slipped from his arms and threw back the covers, hopping up from the bed. But as she took as step, he latched his hand around her wrist.

Brows shooting up in question, she looked back at him over her shoulder. A shaky breath erupted from her at the sight of him. The covers tossed aside as she'd left them, he simply lay there in the bed, hard, and sleep rumpled, and absolutely exquisite.

"Perhaps first, you might see to this little problem you have created."

A smile curved her lips as she turned toward him and walked back to the bed. " _Little_?"

That smirk returning, Master Lucius shrugged. "Well, fine. But to call it a  _big_ problem makes it sound as though I am boasting."

"Mmm," she said as she climbed onto the bed on her knees. "And far be it from  _my_  Master Lucius to boast."

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he rose up and moved behind her. "I  _do_ like the sound of that," he murmured as he pushed her down on her elbows. "Call me yours again, Pet."

Her eyelids fluttered as he gripped a fist into the hair at the back of her head and entered her with the fingers of his other hand. " _My_  Master Lucius."

So deliciously wet she was for him, already. Withdrawing his hand, he positioned himself, sliding inside her in a single, sharp thrust.

Hermione trembled at his entry. Letting out a moan, she pressed tighter to the bed, lifting herself to meet his thrusts.

He slid his free hand around her as she moved back against him, the tips of his fingers rubbing between her thighs.

"Oh, _gods_ ," she said with a breathless giggle as a fine tremor shook through her muscles. Honestly, they had _just_  started!

He leaned over her, his chest against her back. "It's all right, Pet," he murmured, "I know it seems fast, but I  _want_ you to come, and we are pressed for time."

Nodding in his grip, she followed his urging. She strained, pushing back against him as hard as she could and then stilling.

With a grin, he held her tighter, thrusting into her harder and faster until she cried out. He knew by the way she shivered in his grasp, the way she way her voice shook, and her body clenched tight around his cock, that her orgasm was crashing over her.

" _Your_  Master Lucius," he said in that purring whisper as he decided he could not wait—the rocking of his hips becoming jerking and erratic.

As her orgasm ebbed enough that she was able to move, she ground herself against him as he pushed into her in that last, sharp thrust before he stilled.

She loved the feel of his breath on her neck, of his lips trailing over her shoulders and back in lazy, helpless kisses as he spent himself. Hermione slowed, rocking to a halt as he all but collapsed on top of her.

Lucius managed to avoid colliding, entirely, with the poor girl, however. He rolled onto his side at the last minute, pulling her to fall with him.

She snuggled against him, resting her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder as they caught their breath.

He uttered a chuckle as he toyed with a lock of her wild hair. "Not certain lounging was part of what I had in mind when I pointed out we are pressed for time."

"And you would be the first to point out to me that the marketplace is not going anywhere."

Master Lucius nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Hermione lost herself for a few moments. In the beat of his heart beneath her ear, in the sensation of his bare skin against hers, the sound of their slowly steadying breaths.

If there were nothing more than this, life would be  _perfect_.

"I want to belong to you forever," she said, before she even realized the words had left her lips.

Swallowing hard at her admission, he lifted his head to look at her. "Do you understand what you said?"

She turned her face, delicately balancing her chin on his chest to meet his gaze. "Yes. I want to be the Malfoy Pet until my last breath."

"Are you certain of that?" He raised a hand, tracing her lips with one finger. "We Malfoys are rather greedy creatures. Once we decide something is ours, there is no letting it go."

Hermione arched a brow as she brushed a kiss over his fingertips. "Then, I suppose you two really  _have_  made me a Malfoy."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "I have decided that you and Master Draco are mine, and I am  _never_  letting you go."

"Possessiveness never sounded so lovely," he said, the faintest smile tugging the corners of his mouth ever so slightly upward as he leaned to kiss her lips.

* * *

Hermione glanced about from her place between the Malfoys as they strolled through the main street of the marketplace. Past all the lovely shops, all brightness and color, the delicious scents of the bakeshops and eateries.

"Perhaps after we find him, we can lunch at that café you so like," Master Draco said, his tone thoughtful as he glanced from their surroundings to meet his pet's chestnut eyes for a brief moment.

She nodded, consulting Master Lucius with a quick look—he nodded, as well. "When we're finished there, you two can run along, I feel like another bout of shopping is in order."

Draco folded his lips inward on a laugh as Lucius sighed. "Pet, you know the rules."

Pouting, she let her shoulders droop. "But I—"

"If you've a mind to secretly buy more gifts for us, I assure you that can wait for a day when we can arrange you a chaperone."

Hermione halted, mid-step. The men on either side of her paused, as well, each turning to look at her.

"This city is not so dangerous, and I have done nothing to earn mistrust," she said with a displeased frown replacing her pout. "Why can't I be here alone? Without Dobby and Mr. Goyle to mind me?"

The Malfoys exchanged a tense look before Lucius ducked his head toward hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We trust you implicitly, Pet. True you have not always shown the wisest of judgement,  _but_ it is not you who are the source of our concern."

She understood, and actually was rather upset with herself for not thinking of it before it was mentioned. "Voldemort? You think if he were to hear that I travel unaccompanied, he would take the opportunity?"

" _Steal_  the opportunity," Draco said in an unhappy mutter as he shook his head.

"Voldemort was once someone I believed I could put faith in." Master Lucius shook his head, as well. "But since he has come to power, I feel there is nothing I would not put past him. If he decided he wanted you, if Bellatrix ever let it slip that you are possessed of magic—no matter how unusable to him—I  _would_  trust him not to forgo the opportunity to simply snatch you away on a whim."

Hermione nodded, her pout turning into a thoughtful puckering of her lips as she flounced in place a moment. "So, then,  _after_  he is dealt with . . . ?"

Lucius sighed again as Draco chuckled. She certainly was persistent. "Yes, after he is dealt with, you may roam Godrick's Hollow freely, whenever you so choose."

Beaming, she bounced onto her toes to place a kiss on each of her masters' cheeks before she started them all walking, again.

The walked every street, it seemed, only to find the street urchin in the same alley where Hermione had spotted him on that first outing. He sat, at the base of a lamppost, a loaf of bread in his hands.

Her heart clenched a little as she watched him take careful little bites, clearly afraid to eat too much of it at once.

She broke away from her masters to draw close to him. He didn't seem to notice the proximity until she spoke. "Excuse me?"

He jumped a little, but a smile—small and uncertain—split his face when he looked up to see the speaker.

Hermione smiled back. "You remember me?"

"'Course I do," he said, fishing something from his pocket. "You gave me this."

Her jaw dropped and her heart sank at the sight of her gold bangle resting on his open hand. "Oh, no! I . . . I meant for you to use it! Exchange it for money!"

He nodded and put the bracelet away, again. "I know you did, Miss. But no one would believe I hadn't stolen it, so I didn't bother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize," she said, her throat tightening a little at his circumstances.

"No one has ever thought to do me any courtesy, at least you did. So  _please_  don't apologize."

"What's your name?"

"Neville."

"Neville," she repeated, nodding. "My name is Hermione, those are my masters, Lords Lucius and Draco Malfoy."

Neville looked past her toward the two men waiting not far away. "Masters?"

"I'm a pet," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Neville, I have a proposition for you that would get you off the streets. Somewhere you could have a place to sleep and steady meals."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he nodded. "I'm listening, Miss Hermione."

Relief caused a sensation, like a bubble bursting in the center of her chest. The Malfoys kept an eye on their surroundings as Hermione explained what she wanted of Neville. How much better Voldemort's strangely amicable captivity was than the streets, how as long as he let the former king and queen do all the talking while in Voldemort's presence, he would be safe.

Neville snorted a laugh as he picked at another bit of bread. "You make being a prisoner sound pretty damn good."

She grinned, even as she hated the sight of him plucking at that grainy loaf. Turning her head to meet Draco's gaze over her shoulder, she nodded toward the bread, her face pinching in a pleading expression.

Scowling, he exchanged a quick glance with his father before he pivoted on a heel and walked off toward the nearest dining establishment.

"But, why should I?"

"What?" Hermione's heart fell into her stomach, her eyes flashing wide as she returned her attention to him.

"It sounds fine, an' all, but . . . ." He shrugged, shaking his head. "What's the point if I'm just going to end up back out here when you don't need me anymore?"

Her thudding heart calmed as she thought. If she pulled all this off, there would be no request from her the Potters wouldn't grant. "Well, are you willing to work?"

His brows drew together. "'Course. Just no one wants to hire someone like me to do anything that isn't _unsavory_."

"If you help, if you do this, I can  _promise_  you that you  _will_  have a job at the palace, once the Potters are free. It would include room and board, in the servants' quarters. They're  _always_  in need of good stable boys."

Again, Neville smiled. "I can do that!"

He furnished Hermione with the locations he frequented, so she would have little trouble finding him when it came time to put her plan into action. And, though he'd witnessed the interaction that led to it, there was no masking Neville's surprise as Draco returned with a steaming container.

It was all Neville could do not to tear off the lid and upend the too-hot bowl of stew into his mouth at the first whiff of rich gravy and succulent hunks of beef. But that would be rude . . . and probably burn his throat. It was also more food than he'd had in one sitting in gods only knew how long, and he was not going to squander it by giving himself indigestion.

Hell, he'd turn the world upside down if this girl asked!

Hermione and her masters bid him farewell, and started off, again.

"Should you really have made such a promise?" Lucius asked when they were out of earshot of the urchin.

Sighing happily, Hermione leaned her head against Master Draco's shoulder, meeting Master Lucius' gaze from the corner of her eye as they walked. "Were you in the Potters' place, wouldn't you be willing to do such a kindness for the person who made the restoration of your freedom  _and_  throne possible?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I can understand your confidence on the matter."

She beamed all over again as they led her to the door of her favorite café.

* * *

"Post for you, Miss," Dobby said when they stepped into the foyer.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she took the missive from the toddling house elf. "Post for . . . ?" Then she recalled, before she even looked at the beautiful, swirling script on the back of the envelope.

"Everything all right, Pet?"

"Hmm?" She met Master Draco's curious gaze. "Oh, yes. Just a letter from Mother Fleur."

"We'll leave you to read it in privacy, then," Lucius said, nodding to his son.

They each kissed her before they headed off to different parts of the house. Left in the silence of the first floor, Hermione walked to the sitting room as she carefully opened the envelope.

She couldn't believe she'd forgotten that she'd written to Fleur about seeing Pansy next week.

_Dearest Hermione_ ,

_I am so happy to hear from you, it is good that your circumstances have turned for the better. I would like, if you do not think it too forward, that we might maintain a correspondence. Sometimes it becomes difficult to recall that there is a world beyond Solitude's walls._

_As for Pansy . . . ._ _Mes dieux!_   _I miss her every day. If there was any message that I would wish for you to bring to her, please, just tell her I still love her. I hope someday to see her, again, if the gods are kind._

_Yours,_

_Fleur_

Smiling bitterly, Hermione folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. Her heart had broken for Fleur and Pansy when she'd learned of their relationship, just as it had broken for herself where Sirius and Severus were concerned.

Nodding to the empty room, she decided she would bring the missive with her to the dinner party. She would let Pansy read her love's words with her own eyes.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the last pre-written chapter. From here on out, the *reposted* label comes off, this fic moves into my Sporadic Updates category, and any chapters beyond this point are entirely new content. Additionally, this chapter contains a steamy F/F scene and a M/M scene that kinda happens on the periphery, so if you've kept up this far, but are not on board with either of those things, this would be the place to stop reading.
> 
> I won't stop writing this fic until it's complete, it just might take a li'l bit to get there ;)

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Pretty Pansy

Hermione tried to relax in the lovely, floral-scented bath Dobby had drawn her, but it wasn't easy. Once she and her masters were finished dressing, they were to travel to Mount Beacon for the dinner party at Fenrir and Remus' estate.

She was excited that she would see Pansy, again, but a bit nervous about the gathering, itself. She'd never really been to a social function, before. Even at the palace she had only been to the prince's birthday party, and she'd only been expected to sit beside him and look pretty.

Certainly, she could be a perfectly competent and charming conversationalist, if any of the guests chose to engage her in discussion, but that party had been so densely crowded, the only people she'd spoken to the entire evening were the royal family and the house elves serving the guests. In a smaller setting, there was the greater chance she would be invited to join in conversation— _especially_  by those aware of the sensational circumstances surrounding the Malfoys' ownership of her.

For the first time since it had happened, she regretted that Master Lucius had made such a spectacle of himself at the auction house. Well,  _slightly_ regretted—she'd long forgiven him his flashy, and somewhat debauched, tendencies.

A popping sound just outside the door drew her from her thoughts. "Dobby will tidy Miss' hair, now?"

She grinned as she called out, "Yes, Dobby. Come in." Ever since a morning some weeks ago when Master Draco had joined her in her bath, and Dobby had simply _poofed_  into the room at a  _most_  inconvenient moment, the house elf had made certain to appear outside the door, and announce his intrusion, first.

Stepping from the tub, she wrapped a towel around herself just before the little creature entered the room. He was more than accustomed to human nudity—thanks to her  _adventurous_ first few days in the Manor, and, of course, Master Draco's antics—but she still felt an obligation to keep the poor thing from any undue awkwardness.

Dobby toddled in, dragging with him a stool and a bag which contained all the necessary items to tame and appropriately beautify Hermione's locks. This was a process which would normally take place in Hermione's room as she ate breakfast, but today was different.

On account of their evening plans, she'd bathed in the late afternoon, rather than the morning, so here they were, Poor Dobby was probably having a hard time of it, trying to keep the shift in everyone's schedules straight, she realized.

She cooperated as seamlessly as she could with the elf, sitting perfectly still as he worked his magic on her hair.

There was a little, nervous fluttering in her stomach as she thought on the evening ahead. She'd never met werewolves before, were they  _normal_  during the other moon phases? Did they have pointed ears? Or overly thick eyebrows? Was it considered rude to stare at them if they did? Did they exhibit canine mannerisms? Did they need to trim their nails every day to keep them from turning into claws?

The questions made her head spin, and she drew a deep breath, willing herself to stop thinking so hard about it. Any particular social conventions of which she should be aware, her Masters would undoubtedly tell her during the travel to Mount Beacon.

Part of her was deeply amused by how pleased she was about being reunited with Pansy, even if it was only for a short while. How odd that was, considering how much they'd once disliked one another.

* * *

_"Oh," Hermione said, startling the dark-haired girl, already in the bath. They'd barely looked at one another since the training session a week ago, when they'd found themselves holding hands. It had been an odd, unexpected moment of connection, and she'd had no idea what to say to the other girl in its wake._

_Pansy turned in the water, dark-hazel eyes a bit wide as she met Hermione's gaze. She'd come here after the other girls typically turned in since last week, because she knew something had shifted between them, and she had no idea what to do around Hermione, now, after so many years hating the very sight of her._

_"I . . . I suppose I'll just . . . wash in the morning," the girl hovering in the entryway said with a shrug._

_"Nonsense." The word was out of Pansy's lips before she realized she'd spoken. Perfectly aware they were both being awkward, she forced a gulp down her throat and made a waving gesture. "It's fine, honestly."_

_Hermione nodded. Part of her wanted to ignore the invitation and leave the room, but that would be rude . . . . And she wasn't actually certain she wanted to do that, it was only a sudden, unexpected bout of shyness around the other girl rearing its head._

_Pansy returned to lathering the soap over her shoulders and down her arms as Hermione walked to the edge of the tub and slipped off her dressing gown. They each carefully avoided looking at one another, again, as she slid into the tub._

_As Hermione dipped her head back, soaking her hair in the water, Pansy glanced at her over one shoulder._

_"I never got to finish," she said abruptly, much to the surprise of both of them._

_Hermione turned in the water to face the other girl. "What?"_

_Shrugging, Pansy kept her gaze on the surface of the bath. "Last week, when . . . when I offered to wash your hair for you, Trainer Sirius and Trainer Severus interrupted. I never got to finish."_

_Brows shooting up, Hermione nodded—that was not something she'd expected to hear. "Oh, well . . . . Do you want to try again?"_

_Pansy shrugged again, bashful in a_ distinctly _un-Pansy-like fashion. "I just . . . I made the offer as a gesture, sort of an olive branch before we both leave here."_

_"You mean before we're likely to never see each other again?"_

_With a sad little smile curving her lips, Pansy nodded. "Exactly, so it doesn't seem right that I didn't finish it."_

_Hermione was caught off-guard by the faint rush of butterflies through her stomach as the dark-haired girl finally met her gaze. Offering a small smile of her own in response, she nodded, turning so that her back was to Pansy._

_It seemed like forever passed before she felt the other girl's hands tugging gently at her hair. Hermione closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the way Pansy's fingers massaged her scalp, in the simple bliss of the warm water soaking through her hair once more and cascading down her skin as Pansy poured it over her._

_Pansy gathered Hermione's hair in her hands, carefully wringing out the excess water. As the action bared the other girl completely to her gaze, she decided they both needed to put aside this ridiculous shyness._

_Pushing the mass of damp hair over Hermione's shoulder, Pansy drifted closer to her in the water._

_Hermione shivered as Pansy's fingers trailed down her arms, the sudden press of Pansy's body against her a pleasant shock. At the brush of Pansy's mouth against the side of her throat, Hermione let her eyes drift closed and her head fall back._

_"We're not supposed to do things like this," Hermione said, even as she reached one arm back, cupping Pansy's head, her other hand gripping the dark-haired girl's hip._

_Nodding, Pansy murmured, "I know, but we've already been sold and gifted; what are they going to do? Kick us out?" She closed her lips around Hermione's earlobe, enjoying the sound the other girl gasping as she nibbled at the soft skin._

_Shuddering, Hermione placed her hands atop Pansy's as they moved over her. One cupped her breast, pinching and tugging roughly at her nipple, while the other dipped beneath the water._

_They heard the door open, but neither turned toward the sound as Pansy's finger slid between Hermione's thighs._

_"We have to stop them," Severus' urgent whisper met their ears._

_The declaration was followed by Sirius' amused tone, "Oh, no we do_ not _."_

_Hermione had no idea if they left, again, or were still there, watching. She was far too distracted with the feel of Pansy's fingertips stroking her._

_She turned her head, catching Pansy's mouth with her own in a playful, teasing kiss. Her_ first  _kiss._

_Breaking away, suddenly, Pansy turned the girl in her arms. Her olive skin flushed, and her eyes bright with mischief, she grinned. "Up on the ledge," she said in a breathless whisper. "I want to show you something."_

_Nodding—there was a certain headiness to the moment, Hermione couldn't find it in her to care that they were, indeed, being watched—she moved to follow Pansy's instruction. She pulled herself up to sit on the ledge of the tub, awaiting the next direction._

_"Like last session," Pansy murmured as she raked her nails in teasing circles over Hermione's nipples. "I want you to lay back, legs apart."_

_Again, Hermione nodded. But, before she could comply, her gaze drifted to the men in the room. "Oh . . . ."_

_Brows inching upward, Pansy followed her gaze._

_In his effort to keep Severus from stopping them, Sirius had done the unthinkable—he'd kissed the other man. Neither girl had ever guessed they'd end up snogging against the wall like something out of the trashy literature Mother Rosmerta so adored._

_Sirius unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, dropping it to the floor. Breaking the kiss, he dragged his teeth and tongue along Severus' jaw to his throat as he started tearing at the dark-eyed man's clothes._

_Pansy turned back, her cheeks red as she bit into her bottom lip. "They've got the right idea," she said in a whisper. "Do as I say, Hermione, lie back. I_ promise _you'll like this."_

_That feeling of butterflies returned for a flickering moment as Hermione lay back. Parting her legs, she braced her heels on the ledge of the tub._

_Pansy cooed and murmured, words that were lost to the other girl's ears as she parted her with delicate fingers. Holding Hermione's gaze steadily, Pansy lowered her mouth between her thighs, flicking and lapping with the tip of her tongue._

_"Oh, gods," Hermione breathed out in an ecstatic whisper. Uncertain what to do with her hands, she reached down, gripping them into Pansy's long, dark locks._

_The dark-haired girl giggled against her, nodding as she sealed her lips around the slick little bundle of nerves there. She suckled and nibbled gently, slipping her arms up along Hermione's body to knead her breasts._

_Rocking against Pansy's mouth, Hermione held in a moan, not wanting to drown out the sounds drifting over from the two men. She turned her head, watching them in a bit of a daze as Pansy continued working her with lips, and teeth, and tongue._

_Sirius had managed to strip them both bare. He was on his knees before Severus. Though his back was to her, she could tell from the movement of his head that he had the other man's cock in his mouth; she could tell from the pumping of his arm in front of him, that he was unabashedly stroking his hand over himself._

_She knew in the morning she'd be worried that their trainers would be cross with them for what they were making them do to distract themselves. At the moment, however, with Pansy's mouth suckling at her like this, with Pansy's hands roughly massaging her breasts, she didn't give a_ damn _about tomorrow._

_Hermione tensed, and more of those sweet cooing sounds rumbled from the back of Pansy's throat, coaxing her. She came hard, clamping her hands over her own mouth to keep from screaming._

_It was_ so  _different, so much more intense than anything she'd experienced in their training sessions—from orgasms produced without the tiniest fraction of skin-to-skin contact._

_She let out a pleading whimper as it ebbed, her hands slipping from her mouth as she rocked her hips beneath Pansy, once more. Gods, she was never going to forget the hungry sounds the other girl was making. Like Hermione was being_ devoured _._

_When Hermione stilled, Pansy graced her with one last, suckling pull before she lifted her head. Meeting the other girl's gaze with a wicked smiled, she asked in that same breathless whisper from before, "Do you want to try?"_

_Hermione nodded, oddly giddy as the other girl lifted herself from the water and climbed over her. Pansy was careful to sweep Hermione's hair out of the way as she lowered herself over the girl's mouth._

_Uncertain quite what to do, Hermione thought back over precisely what Pansy had done for her._

_Looping her arms around Pansy's thighs, she carefully parted her with both hands. For a moment, she only examined the slick, pink flesh before her, idly stroking and exploring it with curious fingertips. She was certain she'd seen every bit of the other girls, that she knew their bodies as well as she knew her own, yet she'd never seen this secret, breathtaking part of any of them this close before._

_Pansy let out an airy giggle above her. "You should know teasing like that is wicked," she whispered, despite how lovely Hermione's exploratory touches felt._

_"Sorry," Hermione said, though she couldn't help a grin as she spoke._

_Pansy lowered herself just a little more, meeting Hermione's waiting mouth._

_The taste surprised Hermione. She wasn't certain what she expected as she stroked the other girl with her tongue, but this strange, ever-so-faintly bitter sweetness was not it. It was oddly decadent, intoxicating, really._

_Her head falling back, Pansy uttered a soft moan. She sank her fingers into the other girl's wild, still-damp hair, cradling Hermione's head against her._

_They were each aware of the sharp, ragged breaths coming from the room's other occupants. There was a grunt-like sound and harsh gasps._

_And then, after a moment, Severus' voice—breathy and tired. "Gods, I_ hate _you."_

_Sirius chuckled, sounding equally exhausted. "Oh, I_ know _."_

_Hermione did as Pansy had done, closing her lips around the little, pulsing bead of flesh and suckling at it. The other girl moaned and shuddered over her, the hands in her hair gripping tight._

_The sweetness shifted a bit, turning richer as Pansy came. Her body tense and trembling, she pulled harder, holding Hermione tightly to her._

_Distantly, Hermione heard herself making satisfied rumbling sounds in the back of her throat as she nursed Pansy through her orgasm._

_The aftershocks spurred Pansy into motion, once more. She rocked herself over Hermione's mouth, grinding against her delicious suckling pulls almost helplessly until she was utterly spent._

_Catching her breath, she gently pulled Hermione's head from between her thighs. Pansy moved to lay on her side, pillowing her head against the other girl's breast._

_There was quiet through the room for a long while after, punctuated only by their breathing._

_Pansy lifted her gaze to Hermione's face to find the brown-eyed girl already looking at her. "What?" she asked in a whisper, an edge of humor in her voice._

_"Where did you learn to do that?"_

_Darting her gaze about, Pansy lowered her voice further, still, hoping their trainers wouldn't hear the answer. "Fleur."_

_Hermione's eyes widened._

_"Don't look at me like that. You can't help who you fall in love with." She shrugged against Hermione's side. "I suppose it's a bit like you and Trainer Sirius."_

_"What!"_

_Smirking, Pansy shook her head. "Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you? That type of look is_ special _."_

_Unable to help herself, Hermione turned her attention to their trainers. Sirius' blue-grey gaze, it seemed, had been on her for quite a few moments._

* * *

Pansy's observation, she realized now as she finished dressing, was what had given her the courage to kiss Sirius that first time. She'd not even looked at Severus in that moment, because she couldn't imagine he'd felt anything remotely similar toward her, and he was so very guarded with every look and word that no one else—no one but Sirius, of course—suspected his true feelings, either.

The first great loves of her life, and she had Pansy to thank.

"Pet," Master Lucius said, poking his head into the room. "Are you—? Well." His gaze roved over the deep-green silk that draped her curves in a most flattering way. "You are ready, I see, and quite the vision."

Her heart fluttered at the way he was looking at her—for the moment, she would ignore that it affected her body in other ways, as well, since they did not have the luxury of time, just now.

Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close. Lucius dipped his head, his lips brushing over hers as he spoke, "Careful how you move in this dress, tonight, Pet, or our hosts might find us in a situation  _most_  scandalous."

Hermione giggled as she shook her head. Certainly there was nothing scandalous about someone shagging their pet. However, secreting themselves away in the middle of a dinner party to shag their pet was perhaps another matter.

He kissed her hard before stepping back, from her, taking one of her hands in his own. "Shall we?"

"Certainly.  _Oh_!" She snatched up the little silk and pearl handbag from her vanity table. She'd neatly folded Fleur's letter and tucked it away in there.

Master Lucius' brows drew together in question.

"I have something important in here for Pansy."

Recognizing the name from what she'd previously told him, he nodded and finally led her from the room.


	27. Welcome Among Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, here we are! The first new chapter in this story since it's initial posting almost 2 years ago! EEEE! (I've had these last 8 chapters of the story outlined for EVER, it's actually a bit sad, and I'm very upset with myself about not having finished writing this story the first time I'd had it posted)

  **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Welcome Among Wolves

Hermione'd never been so far out of Godric's Hollow before. She'd seen the woods along the roads outside the carriage prior to this night, but never _this_  dense. There was simply something mystical she couldn't quite grasp about the way the leaves hung down from the forest canopy to brush the windows and the roof as they rolled along the narrow, winding road toward the heart of Mount Beacon.

The young woman was so enthralled by their surroundings that she hadn't even realized she was leaning entirely across Master Lucius to press the tip of her nose against the glass. She even gave a bit of a start when he chuckled affectionately at her unaware closeness.

"Perhaps you would have a better view if you were to actually sit in my lap," he said in a warm tone.

Hermione managed to tear her attention from the surrounding forest and its strange, captivating affect on her, to meet his gaze. A blush flared in her cheeks and she could hear Master Draco's stifled laughter from behind her.

"I'm sorry, Master Lucius!" She winced a bit, straightening up in her seat between the Malfoy men. "I can't . . . I can't explain it. These woods, they just . . . feel different, somehow."

Lucius and Draco exchanged a quick glance at her words. "Well," the elder Malfoy started with a languid shrug, "this is where the shifters roam when the full moon is upon them. I suppose it makes sense the air here would feel that way to someone sensitive to magic."

Those chestnut eyes of hers widened a little at his words. Ever since she'd overheard that talk about her innate magic, she'd been cautioned at seemingly random intervals to not speak of magic to anyone if she could help it. For her own safety, he'd said.

"I thought we're not to talk about that," she said in a low voice.

"Under any other circumstances, that would be true, but here, just now, it is only the three of us." Lucius offered a lazy smile and tapped her on the tip of her nose. "No danger here, Pet."

"So, then . . . ." She slid her gaze toward the window as the carriage continued along. "I can keep on . . . ?"

His features going deadpan for a heartbeat, Master Lucius then smirked before scooping her into his lap. "Yes, Pet. You can watch the woods as openly as you like all the way to our destination."

Hermione had no idea, at all, what it was about their surroundings that called to her so, all the same she was thrilled at the chance to continue staring out, into their depths. Dropping an appreciative kiss on Master Lucius' cheek, she turned and peered through the window once more, going so far as to place her palms against the glass.

She only distantly heard Master Draco muttering something to his father about how adorable it was to see her so enraptured. She almost didn't hear him over the sound of her own thudding pulse in her ears and the noises she imagined happening deep within the forest.

Eventually, Lucius and Draco went on to some discussion as they neared the estate of their friends, Remus Lupin and Fenrir Greyback. Hermione was too enraptured by the strange, near-musical whispering of the trees around them to even try to listen to her masters' conversation.

It felt like forever was drifting past without her notice, and yet it was all too soon when the carriage at last rolled to a stop.

As the door opened, Lucius folded his arms around her, so that as he stepped from the carriage, he held her against him, her feet dangling above the ground. He set her down as Draco climbed out and walked up on her other side. Each claiming one of her hands to curl around their elbows, they turned her to face the werewolves' estate.

Hermione gaped at the edifice before her as they began moving up the walk toward the yawning double doors. This place looked like a castle of old, the roof a series of spires, the windows stained glass reliefs, the stone and mortar of the exterior showing its age a bit, making how sturdy the structure was even more impressive, somehow.

She gave herself a shake as they passed through the doors and the opulence of the interior—so at odds with the rough outer walls—stole her breath anew. Shifters, much like humans, weren't shy about throwing their wealth around, apparently.

In the distance beyond the gleaming foyer, she could her music and conversation. Occasional bursts of boisterous laughter and the crinkling of glassware filled the space intermittently.

"You're late," a rumbling voice called out and she thought she might jump out of her skin for how out of place it seemed among all this—the sound nearly a growl of words, but then,  _werewolf._

"I think the point is that they're here, Fen," another voice said, far silkier in tone as Hermione was turned to face the speakers.

She somehow managed to keep her brows from shooting up as she looked them over. They were the first werewolves she'd ever seen, and she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, really. Both were quite lovely in their own way. Each was tall, like Master Lucius, one was rather gruff looking, with straggly dark hair, bright amber eyes, and thickly muscled limbs. The other was svelte, sandy blond, and had eyes of leaf-green so brilliant she thought their color could be noticed from clear across a room. The smattering here and there of rough scars the leaner one had didn't appear to detract from his loveliness, at all.

Lucius chuckled as he walked them toward their hosts. "Thank you for the invitation."

Vaguely confused expressions flicking across their faces, the werewolves turned and looked at each other. They seemed to have some silent communication before either of them spoke.

"He just said 'thank you?'" the blond one asked.

The gruff one arched a brow. "Yes, I think he did."

Draco hid a snicker behind his free hand as his father scowled.

"You're amusing," Lucius said with a shake of his head.

The werewolves made no attempt to cover their laughter as they turned their attention on Hermione. "You must be the one responsible for him being so civil. Welcome to our home, my name is Remus Lupin." The blond one held out his hand.

She slipped her hand from the crook of Draco's elbow and dropped it into Remus' waiting fingers.

Smiling, he dropped a kiss against the back of it before straightening, her hand still in his, to nod toward his companion. "And this is my utterly insufferable worse-half, Fenrir Greyback."

Fenrir pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Remus a moment. "You're lucky you're pretty," he said after a moment.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at their exchange. "Thank you for your gracious invitation, sirs, you have quite the lovely home."

Once more, the werewolves shared a comically taken aback glance with one another. "She's so mannered and poised."

Fenrir nodded at Remus' words as he gave the girl a once-over. "Are you sure you and our Pansy were raised together? That one is such a handful."

Hermione's brows shot up at that. This was coming from shapeshifters? Good gods, she could only imagine what Pansy was getting up to!

"Well, you must understand," Lucius offered with an affectionate grin, "as much as we treasure Hermione, she is still a relatively new addition to our lives. I'm certain once she feels  _completely_  at home, she'll start giving us a difficult time, too."

She turned her head to look up at him as she uttered a scoffing sound.

"Oh, there's the resemblance," Fenrir said with a snicker.

Aware this was a much more relaxed environment than she'd been expecting, she eased her posture a little and let out a sigh. "You all think you're so funny."

Draco dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Because we are."

Shaking her head, she tugged her hands from both Master Lucius' arm, and Remus' hand—she'd forgotten he was still holding it. "If you don't mind, I've something for Pansy. D' you know where I might find her?"

"Certainly, last we saw her, she was sitting at the fountain. Go straight along this main floor to the glass-paned doors at the back and out into the gardens." Remus turned, pointing across the grand house.

Nodding, she turned to look at the Malfoys. "May I?"

They each nodded and waved her off.

Remus tipped his head a bit as they all watched her walk away.

"Something about that girl . . . ." Fenrir said in a low, rough tumble of sound.

"There is," Lucius said, nodding. Shifters were naturally more versed in magic than humans. Perhaps they'd have some useful insight that might help them to protect her. "Tell you over a drink if you take a blood oath to keep it a secret."

Both frowning thoughtfully, Fenrir and Remus exchanged a look. "Interesting."

Remus nodded in agreement with Fenrir. "All right, then, this way. Fire Whiskey and daggers in the study."

* * *

"Hermione!"

Turning toward the familiar voice, Hermione smiled. "I've been looking all over for you!" Fountain her left foot! Pansy hadn't been anywhere in sight when Hermione'd gotten out into the gardens. Wandering, while trying to keep her bearings—luckily, most of the party seemed contained within the house, itself, so there weren't very many people at all out here—she'd made her way as far into the gardens as she dared.

When she neared an outdoor seating area of cushioned, wrought-iron benches, she'd heard her name.

The dark-haired girl actually bounced up from where she'd been sitting and hurried to close the distance between them. Hermione thought it odd that she  _didn't_  feel odd about the way Pansy pulled her close in a hug. What they'd done before they'd left Solitude had been a bonding experience, if nothing else.

"I can't believe you're actually here!"

Hermione laughed as Pansy leaned away enough to give her and appraising once-over. "I can't believe you're somehow managing to make  _werewolves_  think you're a handful."

Pansy sputtered a laugh and waved dismissively. Catching Hermione's fingers with her own, she turned and led the other young woman back to the bench. "They talk like I give them headaches, but honestly? After my first week here, they told me they only put up with pomp and circumstance for the sake of their human friends, and if I was to be living with them, I had to be, well,  _me_. They're only getting what they asked for."

Laughing again, Hermione shook her head as they sat down, clasping each other's hands. "It's so good to see you! I can't believe I've actually missed you."

"I know, right?" Pansy's hazel eyes lost a bit of their sparkle as she asked, "Have you, um, have you seen any of the others since leaving?"

Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I have. Luna, she's doing fantastically. And . . . ." Smiling warmly, she disentangled one of her hands from Pansy's to cup the other girl's cheek. "And Fleur."

Her lips quivering—as though wanting to smile, yet telling herself not to—Pansy said, "Oh? How, um, how is she?"

"She's well, and I have something I thought you might want to see."

Dropping her attention to the little satin bag she'd brought with her, Hermione hastily withdrew Fleur's letter. Holding it out to Pansy, she smiled wider. "Here."

Pansy stared at the missive for a few heartbeats before accepting it. Unfolding the parchment, she frowned, skimming it over before looking up at Hermione once more. "You'll have to help me, I can already see there are some words I don't recognize."

Nodding, Hermione scooted closer, holding one side of the missive as she pressed her side to Pansy's. Some of the other girls had not cared to learn to read. Pansy had opted for a middle-ground, learning just enough to get by with common words and phrases.

Pansy read Fleur's words aloud, her voice halting and uncertain. Hermione was strangely proud that she'd only had to fill in  _correspondence_ and  _circumstances_. That meant Pansy had been studying, trying to improve her literacy on her own since coming here.

Folding the letter, Pansy dropped her gaze to the ground. "That makes me happy. I wish it didn't have to hurt, too."

"Oh, gods. Come here." Hermione sniffled for her Sister's pain as she turned put an arm around Pansy's shoulders.

Uttering a sad laugh, Pansy buried her face against Hermione's neck as she wept. But only a little. Pansy had never been very big on tears.

"If you like, I could help you write a letter of your own to her."

Pansy nodded after she'd calmed. "Yes, I think I would like that."

For a time, they sat like that in silence. But then, Hermione noticed how warm and soft Pansy felt against her. How silky the sweep of that dark hair was against her skin. And damn if memories of that time together didn't come rushing back.

Pansy must've felt the same, Hermione thought, because the other young woman turned her head, trailing her lips upward, along the pulse in her throat.

Withdrawing enough to meet Hermione's gaze, Pansy only watched her face a moment. Her hazel eyes flicking over Hermione's features to touch upon her mouth.

Leaning close, she was pleasantly surprised to find Hermione meet her half-way in a kiss. Brief, only a few blushing heartbeats of their lips brushing against each other, their tongue darting into one another's mouths to caress and explore teasingly.

After breaking the kiss, Pansy rested her head on Hermione's shoulder. "We should probably get inside to the party."

Hermione smiled. "In a minute. Let's just enjoy the peace out here before we have to go deal with  _all_  those people."

Nodding, Pansy snickered.

* * *

Draco turned away from the scene he'd just witnessed, his brows high on his forehead.

Later, after the girls came into the house, he pulled Hermione aside discreetly to ask her just how close she and Pansy had been. She tried to be just as discreet, explaining as delicately as she could while still giving enough of a picture, about her past with the other young woman.

"I see," he said with a chuckle.

Hermione shook her head, her lips pursed in an unconsciously judgmental way. "Oh, you men," she retorted, though the tone in her voice was warm rather than chiding, as she walked away to rejoin Pansy.

While Hermione stepped across the floor, however, Lucius moved into her place, watching the pair from beside Draco. The girls seemed especially familiar as they chatted away, sliding their fingers across each other's skin seemingly at random, or brushing loose locks of hair behind ears in lingering touches.

"Something interesting?" he asked, not taking his eyes off them.

"Well, it, um . . . ." Draco cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. "It seems Hermione and Pansy have something of a history. An  _intimate_  history."

"Really?" Lucius frowned thoughtfully. There was a certain wistfulness about Hermione in the presence of the other young woman. Poor creature was constantly surrounded by males. Maybe she needed someone who could be closer to her in a way they couldn't. "Hmm. Perhaps I'll talk to Remus and Fenrir. See if they can part with their pet for a day or two so the young ladies can have a night to themselves."

Draco looked at his father for a long, quiet moment. "Oh, you are very generous."

Lucius smirked as he lifted his glass to his lips. "It's a curse, I tell you."


	28. With a Touch of Elfish Magic

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

With a Touch of Elfish Magic

Hermione's stomach was tied up in knots as the carriage rolled to a stop before the palace. Even the reassuring touch of Master Lucius and Master Draco on either side of her didn't help very much. Not with this. Oh, surely, she understood what they were doing, the necessity of it—Master Lucius had pointed out that if they waited for Voldemort to call upon him, that would likely mean the Usurper'd had time to arrange his  _meeting_  with Hermione. The only way to ensure their plan had any hope of working was to act before he did.

She tried to steady her nerves as she looked across at the other seat. Dobby and Neville looked just as fearful as she did, though the elf had spoken quite confidently of his magical abilities when she'd asked for his assistance.

Master Draco peered out the carriage window as Mr. Goyle climbed down and started around to open the door. Glimpsing the guards coming toward them, he turned to look at Hermione and the other two, in turn.

Nodding, he said, "Now, Dobby."

The three nodded back, but Hermione gave her masters each a quick kiss before Dobby snapped his fingers. Just like that, the trio vanished from sight.

Lucius' brows pinched upward. "Pet?"

"I'm still here, Master Lucius."

He smirked at the mischief edging her voice. Well, he imagined this was a trick that could come in  _quite_ handy at the proper moment. "Remarkable," he managed in a hushed tone just as Mr. Goyle pulled open the door.

In an orderly fashion, moving so as not to draw attention to the gap between the two visible parties, they filed out of the carriage. Hermione, one hand on Neville's wrist and the other on Dobby's, held back as her masters walked forward to greet the guards.

"Lord Malfoy? I was unaware you had business with His Highness today."

Lucius played up his typical impatience with those of the guards' station. Rolling his eyes, he scowled. "We have nothing scheduled, no, but I  _must_  speak with him at once. It's a rather pressing matter. You will, of course, summon Dame Bellatrix to keep my son company while I attend matters with His Highness."

"Of course, sir!"

Hermione's brows shot up at Master Lucius' curt tone. Oh, she recognized that . . . she actually dreaded that voice. And clearly so did the guards, because they hurried to usher the Malfoys inside. She and her equally obscured companions rushed after them, using the visible groups' footfalls to muffle the sound of their own.

Gods, her heart was hammering so hard in her chest she found it a wonder no one heard it over the other noises.

She had no idea what business Master Lucius had fabricated to discuss with Voldemort, but it didn't matter, either. He only needed to keep Voldemort occupied—and Master Draco keep Bellatrix occupied—long enough for them to get into, and back out of, the dungeons.

Of course, Bellatrix was the more important one in this instance. They couldn't risk her coming near enough to sense Dobby's magic in use.

The moment they were all past the entrance hall, Hermione began tugging Dobby and Neville off in another direction, leaving the put-upon guards and Master Lucius' brusque demeanor behind them. Dobby's magic, Hermione's knowledge of the palace, Neville's very presence. She tried not to focus on the fact that this part weighed so heavily on them—it  _depended_  on them. And if any of them made a misstep, she knew the true purpose behind her masters' surprise visit would be revealed.

She would not endanger them like that.

Despite their concealment, and that time might well be of the essence, she moved them along cautiously. Around bends hugging the wall, ducking behind columns, anything to avoid accidentally bumping into a guard or a servant.

By the time they reached the door to the dungeon staircase, Hermione thought her legs might give out from under her. The armored guard stationed before it seemed rather more imposing than she ever remembered, and quite immovable.

She gave Dobby a gentle nudge. He made a tiny sound of acknowledgement and she heard him snap his fingers, as he had in the carriage.

The guard turned his head toward the noise, but just as fast, a glazed sheen came into his eyes. Hermione stared at the man wide-eyed. Dobby had said he could put the guard in a trance, but this kind of deep and immediate stupor she'd not expected.

With a wiggle of his free hand, Dobby took control of the guard's limbs. In careful, edging steps, he moved the man just enough to get him out of the way of the door. Elf magic was truly a terrifying thing to behold, Hermione considered. If not for the creatures' happily,  _willingly_ , subservient nature, she thought for certain household stations would function in the reverse of the way the did now.

Neville opened the door, and she swore she felt her heart stop for a flickering second at the too-loud-seeming _thunk_ of the bolt sliding out of place. Though they could not even see one another, all three were perfectly aware that they moved as one to look about, praying no one had noticed the sound—the currently bewitched guard who wouldn't have heard a crack of thunder beside his ear notwithstanding.

Letting out a trembling breath, she nodded. "Let's go,  _quickly_ ," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Stepping through, they eased the door closed as silently as they could manage behind them. "Oh, I hope I never have to do anything like this again in my life," Neville muttered, his pulse jumping beneath his skin.

"Dobby quite agrees," the elf squeaked out as they started down the stairs. "Miss will not speak to the prisoners until Dobby gives her a signal."

Hermione gently tightened her grip around his bony wrist in acknowledgement.

It seemed forever before they reached the bottom of the staircase. They peeked into each cell until they found the Potters off at the end of the row. The three of them were crowded into the same cell despite that there were more than enough empty ones to hold them separately. Trust Voldemort to keep them relatively healthy but not even give them the reprieve of a moment's privacy. There was something  _deeply_  wrong with that man, Hermione thought with a frown.

There went that snapping of Dobby's fingers once more, and then he relinquished his hold on Hermione's wrist. Well, if  _that_  wasn't the signal, she supposed for certain that she could suddenly see both him and Neville surely was.

"Now Miss may speak. Other prisoners can't hear or see any of this."

Her brows shot up and she exchanged a shocked glance with Neville. "Oh," they said in unison.

"Who's there?" she heard from within the cell.

"It's me, Majesty," she answered, recognizing James Potter's voice. "Hermione."

Once more, Dobby applied his magic to unlock the door—unlike the simple bolt on the entrance, the cells had individual locks. Hermione opened it and stepped inside, giving the former ruling family the chance to see it was really her.

Immediately Harry was on his feet, hugging her tight. "Oh, gods! We've been so worried about you!"

" _Me?_  I'm fine."

"Daft girl," Lily said, though her voice was warm and gentle despite her words. "What are you doing here?"

"We've a plan to get you back on the throne—"

"We?"

Hermione winced, aware this might not be a welcome alliance, as the Malfoys were . . . less than innocent in their being overthrown. "Myself and the . . . Malfoys."

"What? You can't trust—"

"We can, now," she said, perfectly aware she had just interrupted her King, but this was no time for tending wounded pride over past betrayals. "And we have to. I'm sorry, I can't get you all out now, but I can get Harry out of here, and we need him to make this work."

"But how can I go anywhere? Someone's bound to notice if I turn up missing."

Hermione nodded, relieved to be bickering with Harry Potter, as though nothing had changed. Of course, her whole world had changed since they'd last seen one another, but she could not be more comforted that their friendship might still remain.

"Neville, that's your cue."

The urchin stepped into the cell, his expression uncertain as his gaze bounced back and forth among the members of the former ruling family. Lily and James stared back at him, each of them going wide-eyed at the resemblance to Harry.

"Lily, did we have another child I don't know about?"

Lily shook her head as she drew close to Neville, reaching to touch his hair in gentle examination

"He's going to take Harry's place with you until you're free. I've told him the palace would be more than happy to hire him on to help in the stables once power is restored to you." Though under any other circumstances, Hermione knew she'd be pushing it, she was also perfectly aware the Potters were reasonable people. That there was nothing they would not do for a just cause.

"Of course, of course," James said, nodding.

"Then, we'll give you all a moment to say your goodbyes. It may be a little while before this all works out." Hermione nodded to her King and Queen and then guided Neville and Dobby back out of the cell to wait.

* * *

Voldemort frowned, looking over the effigy Lucius had handed him. "More old god rubbish!" He tossed the small wooden figure into the fire place with a shake of his head. "And you found this on your grounds?"

Lucius sipped his drink as he nodded. Found it on his grounds . . . same place he'd carved the little piece of rubbish. "Yes, and seeing as it is only myself and my son, our pet and the elves, I don't believe it came from any of us."

"You have some suspicion as to the responsible party, then?"

Brows shooting up, Lucius met Voldemort's curious gaze. "Oh, I've no idea. However, its presence did disturb me enough to warrant this visit. You see, if this had been discovered by anyone not of my household on  _my_  estate's grounds, I could've been brought up on charges of heresy; it would be a scandal. I believe someone may be trying to take your supporters away from you in very public, very unforgivable ways."

Lucius was making the bulk of this up as he was going along, but he'd grown quite skilled at both lying through his teeth and spinning compelling—factual-seeming—yarns at a moment's notice. He'd known that by presenting the offending object to Voldemort, the opportunity to let his mind work on some plausible fabrication would open to him.

Any distraction at all would've done the trick, he supposed. Anything to give them time enough to find, and exploit, that weak spot. And if there was any single matter that concerned Voldemort above all else, it was maintaining his grip on the crown.

"I'll put word out to the noble houses. Order them to search for any such evidence before the people have a chance to catch wind of this plot. With any luck, perhaps one of them will catch the culprit in the act."

"Wise," Lucius said, nodding as he finished his drink. "I'm afraid I must take my leave shortly, but I thank you for being so courteous as to see me on such short notice."

"You were rather insistent, Lucius.'

"My apologies, I do suppose I was a bit . . . ." His thoughts drifted to Hermione, somewhere in the depths of the palace, possibly teetering on the very edge of being caught. "Anxious, yes, that's the perfect word. This entire scenario has me anxious about the future."

* * *

Draco had never been so glad in his life to get away from his aunt as he had been just then. The longer he was with her, the more concerned he'd become that he did not have his fathers' silver-tongued skill. All Aunt Bella would need was to detect that he was insincere about something, about anything, and she'd needle him with questions until she forced the truth from him. Not a single spell required.

As he joined his father in the entrance hall, Lucius nearly cracked a grin at how harassed his son appeared.

"Something troubles you?" the elder Malfoy asked, unable to hide the faint amusement edging his voice.

Draco glanced back over his shoulder, assuring himself the blasted witch hadn't followed him as they stepped through the palace's front gates. He didn't speak until they were nearly to the carriage. "Um, if Aunt Bella sends you a missive asking if you intend to marry our pet, just roll with it."

Lucius stopped in his tracks. Pivoting on his heel to face his son directly, he arched a brow so high the expression looked painful. "Just . . . roll with it?"

"It's an expression. You know? Like a carriage, rolling along?"

Holding up his hand, Lucius shook his head. "No, no. You discussed _what_  with your Aunt?"

"Well . . . ." Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably as he nodded. "I was scrambling for what to talk about, but also wanted to put her at ease so she didn't suspect anything. She's been nervous about Hermione possessing magic, it's made her paranoid about the security of her position. So I . . . I told her you wanted to marry Hermione into the House Malfoy, officially, and that even though that wasn't the cause, it might make it more difficult—from a legal standpoint—in the event that Voldemort ever realized she had magic and tried to take her back."

Lucius' grey eyes narrowed. "And her reaction to this?"

"Well, she doesn't have very much knowledge about legal matters, and so she believed it and she's . . . happy. Said she'll keep it a secret, so that he won't have the chance to rush and take our pet away beforehand."

Straightening to his full height, Lucius only stared at his son before he said, "Well done, then."

Draco's shoulders slumped as he watched his father turn and proceed the last few steps to the carriage. "Bloody hell . . . don't _do_ that!"

After they got into the carriage—the air felt a bit cramped, as it had before despite that it appeared empty—Draco waited again, this time until they were moving, before he spoke. "Well, then? Everyone present and accounted for?"

Dobby snapped his fingers, dropping the concealing magic from himself, Hermione, and former crown prince Harry Potter.

Harry lifted one brow as he fixed an unhappy gaze on Lucius. "Malfoy."

"You're welcome."

Hermione bit her lip, shaking her head as she hoped they could avoid an argument. At least until they got home.

"Look, I don't have to like it, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get rid of that bastard." Harry's lip curled in a sneer as he looked from Lucius to Draco, and back. "Even if it means working with the two of you."

Wincing, Hermione interjected, then. "Um, Harry?" Gods, she was not used to addressing him as  _just_ Harry. "You realize that until we do 'get rid of that bastard', you'll have to stay out of sight? You'll, well, you'll have to hide out in Malfoy Manor."

Harry didn't know what was worse, the unpleasant coiling in the pit of his stomach, or that he could swear he'd just glimpsed a spark of amusement at his expense in Lucius Malfoy's eyes.

Turning a pleading look on Hermione, Harry asked, "Couldn't you just put me back in the dungeon?"


End file.
